Decisions
by JessieBess
Summary: Sybil is haunted by decisions from her past. She finally realizes she has to confront her past and that while she can't change the past she can change her future.
1. Chapter 1

**1924**

It had started as an evening just like so many that had come before it in Sybil's life. She was a bit surprised when Edwin had telephoned suggesting dinner at Rules for they usually opted for small unassuming neighborhood places rather than somewhere like the venerable Rules. She had dressed accordingly in an elegant black silk crepe de chine dress with a wide band of patterned gold lame just below the boat neckline with a smaller band of gold lame below the hips and then another just above the mid-calf hemline. The dress was classy and modern but not flashy much like Sybil herself. Two gold hair combs held back the sides of her just below the chin length bob allowing a clear view of her dangling gold earrings, a long ago gift from Granny, that sparkled in the restaurant's lights.

Sybil paid no attention to the looks she garnered from other diners as the waiter escorted her and Edwin across the room to one of the plush red booths. While Sybil may have been oblivious to the admiring glances Edwin noticed. He thought he probably looked much the same way the first time he saw Sybil standing in his uncle's antiques shop looking at some rare first edition books. Although her dress, a purple day dress that complemented her short dark hair and lovely blue eyes, was a much simpler frock than the elegant black dress she was now wearing she looked just as beautiful.

Sybil glanced around the ornately decorated room with its high ceilings and tall yellow painted walls crammed with prints and paintings large and small as well as antler trophies mounted on wood blocks. It could have been a room in almost any of the stately country homes she had visited. However, the red booths that lined the walls or the separate tables for four that occupied the rest of the floor space reminded her she was not in someone's home but rather a restaurant. She was glad that unlike so many of the city's restaurants Rules had stayed strictly a dining facility rather than taking up most of their tables and turning the space into a dance floor or becoming a cabaret. Sometimes it was nice just to sit and talk over a good meal without the conversation being drowned out by a band.

For most of her life, Sybil had never eaten in a restaurant other than the occasional tea in one of the small tea rooms of Downton village or Ripon and she wasn't sure if those places actually counted as a restaurant. Granny and her parents would no more think of going out to eat at a restaurant than they would taking up a job. To them dining out meant visiting someone's home where meals were prepared by the family's cook and her staff. It was only in the past few years, since moving to London, that she began patronizing restaurants. It was just another reminder of how her life had changed these past few years.

Sybil had met Edwin just over six months ago when she and Elizabeth Bellasis, a lifelong friend, had popped into an antique shop after having tea at the tea room next door. It was Elizabeth's cousin Tom whose death so long ago in the Great War had been the impetus for Sybil becoming a nurse. If asked Sybil would quickly say it was the decision to become a nurse that led to her present life living in London at her Aunt Rosamund's house in Eaton Square. But she knew that wasn't quite the whole truth.

Since that meeting Sybil and Edwin had seen each other one or two times a week except for those weeks Edwin was out of town on a buying trip. Sometimes they went dancing at one of the numerous jazz clubs or cabarets that seemed to have suddenly sprung up all over London. Other times they dined out or attended a concert or an art exhibit and then maybe stopped for a drink or a light dinner.

As always the conversation easily flowed between the two. Edwin's work as a buyer for his uncle's shop took him all over England as well as the continent. Sybil was fascinated by stories of his travels and the means by which he acquired some of the items sold in the shop. She was a bit conflicted when he related instances of aristocratic families, some whom she knew and had visited their grand country estates or their elegant London town homes, selling possessions or acres of land or even their whole estate that had been in their family for hundreds of years. These years after the Great War hadn't been kind to much of the aristocracy. _But things are changing. When the war's over, the world won't be the same place as it was when it started._ The war had changed the world just as it had changed Sybil.

After a fine meal, they lingered over coffee and a rich vanilla crème brulee garnished with fresh raspberries. Edwin seemed quite disappointed when Sybil declined his suggestion of moving on to a jazz club.

It was a glorious late spring evening when they emerged from Rules. Although the sun had set, there was still a lingering warmth in the air. Sybil would have preferred to take the underground to Victoria Station and then walk the short distance to Eaton Square but Edwin insisted on taking a taxi cab. He seemed rather preoccupied while they sat in the taxi so they sat in silence on the ride and Sybil hoped he wasn't sulking that she had declined his offer to continue the evening with drinks and dancing.

As Sybil watched the changing scenery as the taxi cab moved from the hustle and bustle of Covent Garden towards Eaton Square she realized how much she enjoyed the city. It was a lovely drive up The Strand and then The Mall and around the Victoria Memorial and Buckingham Palace. When Sybil had first moved to London she feared missing the wonderful grounds of Downton. She loved walking in the woods and with the changing seasons watching the leaves turn from their summer greenery to a dazzling display of fall colors. Even the bare limbs of winter had a stark beauty which was soon replaced with budding greenery or pink, purple or white blossoms. And then of course there were the many gardens that bloomed from spring to fall with an array of flowering shrubs and plants.

To Sybil's delight she found the city a walker's paradise. The many squares and parks offered greenery, flowering shrubs and plants while the streets were lined with buildings of architectural interest as well as many shops that attracted her attention. She found she could lose herself for an afternoon in one of the city's many book shops. The thought of those delightfully odd shops especially ones filled with bits and bobs made Sybil think of when she first met Edwin. His uncle's shop was filled with items much finer than those shops she usually browsed, indeed much of its inventory would fit in at Downton or Aunt Rosamund's but there were also the odd and quirky items. She glanced over at Edwin who sat stiffly with his left hand tapping his knee while his face was turned away from her and towards the passenger window. Although she couldn't see his face she felt his mind was on something other than the passing scenery.

Sybil turned to look once more out her window as the taxi skirted around Buckingham Palace. Seeing the palace suddenly brought forth the image of her one and only visit to that magnificent building, her presentation to their royal majesties. Her season … she, like her sisters, had been groomed for years for that time. But there had only been that one season and then the war and then … Sybil shook her head as if to erase those thoughts.

Her life no longer evolved around such things as _the season_ for there were much more important matters to be involved with. While the parks had plenty of walking paths through woodlands and gardens as well as around lakes her favorite place was found in Hyde Park which offered something that Downton could never offer – Speaker's Corner where she had attended many speeches and demonstrations and met like-minded people.

As the taxi neared their destination Sybil suggested to Edwin that the driver let them out on the edge of Eaton Square at Lower Belgrave Street so they could walk the long block and a half to Aunt Rosamund's house. While the weather was perfect for an evening stroll, Sybil thought the short walk to her aunt's house would give Edwin time to say whatever was on his mind. Neither talked as they walked towards the house and Sybil was puzzled by Edwin's sudden reticence for it seemed they had always had an easy rapport.

The air was heavy with the scent of lilacs from the clump of lilac bushes across the street from Aunt Rosamund's front door. She loved that her bedroom window looked out at the park formed by the Square and with her bedroom windows open just a bit she could smell those lilac bushes. There were only three stairs to the porch and Sybil knew the moment they reached the front door Hanes the butler would be there to open it. Edwin tugged gently on Sybil's arm at the foot of the first stair causing her to stop and turn around to face him.

"This isn't how I planned it" Edwin began hesitantly as he looked up and down the sidewalk. Seeing no one else on the walk he focused back on Sybil.

"I had hoped to have a bottle of chilled champagne and-" As he reached for Sybil's hand it finally dawned on her what was coming.

 **1916**

She had felt so confident and excited when Mama, Granny, and her sisters were all gathered in her bedroom helping her pack. But now as the motor car started down the long drive and her home faded in the background her confidence and excitement dimmed. _The first of you to leave the nest_ her mother had said.

Sybil's eyes filled with unshed tears despite her best efforts. For years she had wanted to go to a real school and now she was finally having that chance. Yet as the motor car pulled away from the front of her home it wasn't the excitement of attending school that consumed her thoughts. Instead she dwelled on the realization that it was her first time away from home and for the first time in her life she would be completely alone with no family or friends or even servants around. She took a deep breath.

She could ask Branson how it felt to leave home. But then again her situation and his were nothing alike and it would be unfair of her to ask since it had been years since he had been home and seen his family. She would only be gone for two months provided she didn't fail her course.

Usually by this time one of them would have started a conversation but today they drove in silence. Other than cousin Isobel, Branson had been the only other person to encourage her in her decision to become a nurse. While he had made clear his feelings on the war itself, he had no misgivings about her becoming a nurse and voiced that any man that had her as his nurse would be lucky. She looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror hoping to see that confidence in his eyes beaming back at her but his eyes were focused on the road and he seemed to be in deep concentration.

The unusual awkwardness between them in the motor car continued as they walked through the brick archway that led them into a grassy courtyard. She's shocked by the sight of men exercising in the courtyard some of whom are missing an arm while others are missing a leg. Until now the horrors of war had only been in her letters but now she was seeing firsthand the war's effects. Men like this will be my patients she thought.

Branson sets her two suitcases down on the pavement just inside another brick archway which is the entrance to a long covered pathway leading to her college. They stand there looking at each other until Sybil breaks the silence.

"It'll be hard to let you go. My last link with home." She smiles slightly.

Branson removes his hat which he holds in his hand as he continues to look directly at her face. "Not as hard as it is for me."

As she looks at him, she notes his clear blue eyes and the sincerity in his voice and it suddenly becomes clear to her where this is leading.

 _I know I shouldn't say it, but I can't keep it in any longer._

 _Bet on me._


	2. Chapter 2

**1924**

Sybil slumped against the back of the oversized front door, her eyes closed, her mind a jumbled mess. She was stunned by Edwin's proposal for it had truly come out of the blue at least in her mind. They had never talked about marriage, neither of them had even hinted at it. Nor had there even been any passionate evenings; in fact there had only been the barest of kisses between them.

Edwin was leaving in the morning on a buying trip for his uncle's shop. He expected to be gone for at least a month, maybe even a bit more. It would be long enough for her to forget him he had said and he didn't want that.

"Are you all right Lady Sybil?"

Startled by the butler's words, Sybil quickly opened her eyes and stood up straight, her hands automatically pressing down the sides of her dress. "I'm fine Hanes" she replied but even to her ears her voice sounded strained.

Hanes was much like Carson in that very little escaped his attention and, like all good butlers his face was usually a mask devoid of any expression, but he stood there with his brow raised in just the slightest manner of inquisitiveness.

Looking at him, Sybil emitted a small smile "but thank you for your concern."

He watched as she took a few steps across the marble tiles of the grand foyer noting how natural and elegant she looked in that black evening dress.

Sybil had almost reached the wide staircase before stopping and glancing back across the large foyer towards the library. "I don't really feel like retiring to my room just yet Hanes so I think I'll just sit in the library for a bit. Maybe find a good book to take to my room."

She gave the butler a broad smile before continuing "I won't be needing you for anything so please feel free to retire to your room."

He watched her enter the library and then made sure the front door was properly locked. As he passed the library he briefly thought of making sure she didn't need anything, a cup of tea perhaps or a sandwich, but then thought better of it. She had been living here in Lady Rosamund's house for almost five years now but he still found Lady Sybil to be a bit of an enigma. He remembered her as a bright mischievous child with a beguiling smile that automatically brightened any room. But something had changed about her, something that Hanes couldn't quite express what it was. In many ways she was still that delightful girl but Hanes thought there was also a hint of sadness about her now that she tried very hard to hide. Maybe it was just the unpleasantness she had seen in the war and in the work she did here in London.

He shook his head at the thought of her work and the causes she deeply believed in and had no qualms expressing her opinions on. A beautiful young woman like her should have been married years ago he thought.

Sybil had no intention of looking for a book or for that matter reading; instead she poured herself a small glass of brandy before kicking off her shoes and curling up in her favorite lounge chair beside the fireplace. Although the day had been rather warm for late spring, there was now just the barest chill in the air but Sybil wasn't sure if that was reflective of the room's actual temperature or her mood. Instead of lighting a small fire, she pulled the old comfy knitted shawl that she always left on the back of this chair around her. She took a sip of the brandy, closing her eyes and savoring its warmth as the golden liquid smoothly glided down her throat.

Edwin's proposal wasn't the first she had received since moving to London. Just like Edwin's proposal, those proposals had come out of the blue and Sybil was sure that neither had been driven by love. There had been the Earl of Groton's third son whom she had known since childhood. He was handsome and charming and marriage to him would have pleased her parents and would have given her a life much like she had before the war. Then there was the son of a newly wealthy industrialist, some sort of metals or was it machine parts she couldn't really remember. His family thought her title would bring them a higher social standing.

With Edwin it was a bit different though and Sybil thought he might actually be in love with her or at least he thought he was in love with her.

Sybil finished the last of the brandy and set the glass on the table next to her chair. She pulled the shawl a bit tighter around her chest. Love. It was a word she hadn't thought of in a long time, at least not in the context of her life. Uncontrollably she felt tears well up in her eyes.

 **March 1917**

Walking across her bedroom Sybil stopped when she caught the reflection in the full length mirror that stood in the corner of the room. Looking at the figure in the mirror, the starched snowy white apron covering all but the collar, sleeves and bottom of the gray dress, the matching head scarf leaving only an inch or two of very dark brown hair peeking out at the back of the head, and she could hardly believe it was herself. Her right hand automatically rubbed the gray arm band with the bright red cross sewn on it. The vision in the mirror was a far cry from _Lady Sybil_ and this pleased her very much.

She could have walked to the village hospital but when she emerged from the front doors of Downton he was there standing by the passenger door of the motor car waiting for her just as he always did.

"Good morning Nurse Crawley" he said with a smile as she reached the open passenger door.

"Good morning Branson." She returned his smile with a bright one of her own and thought she would never tire of hearing him call her Nurse Crawley. She was so proud to be called that. For the first time in her life she felt useful.

As the motor car pulled away from the front of the house, she couldn't help but look at him and thought he must have sensed her staring for he eventually looked back at her through the rear view mirror. "President Wilson wants to arm U.S. merchantmen."

He raised a newspaper from the front seat and handed it back to her.

"I think it's only a matter of time now till America finally joins the war" he said as she eagerly took the newspaper from him.

The easy camaraderie they had shared before she left for York had finally returned. She hadn't been sure what to expect when he came to take her home at the end of her training. A part of her was angry that he had chosen then to speak as he did. He knew how apprehensive she was about her schooling and how much it meant to her to do well and then he had spoken giving her something more to muddle her brain.

She had tried not to think about him and what he had said, to concentrate on her classes but thoughts of him and his words constantly filtered through her brain. Then of course there were her own feelings about him to deal with. She treasured having someone to finally talk to about what she thought was important issues. They didn't always agree but they listened to each other and talked over their differences. Yet it wasn't just the politics ... it was … oh she just couldn't think about these things right now.

She had done it! She had passed her course! The excitement she felt was tempered by the thought of him coming to York to get her for the return journey home to Downton. The suddenness of the motor car braking so sharply the tires actually squealed startled Sybil causing her to jump to her feet from her perch on top of one of her suitcases. With her head bowed down her eyes cast on the walk way, she had been deep in thought and hadn't even been aware of the approaching motor car until it made its noisy stop. Now her eyes widened as she realized she was staring at the back of her father's Renault and an uneasy feeling came over her as she realized Branson would never have done such a maneuver.

With that uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach as her mind registered that idea that Branson had left Downton despite her plea, she stood there gaping at the rear of the motor car.

"I believe you need a ride to Downton."

Sybil looked at her sister Edith standing beside the car with her chest puffed up and a contented smile on her face it was obvious Edith was quite proud of herself.

"You … you" Sybil sputtered her words, her mind in complete disarray that Edith would have driven here.

From the corner of her eye, Sybil noticed movement coming from the other side of the motor car and she felt a wave of relief roll through her as Branson slowly appeared. She wasn't sure if the paleness of his face reflected his dread of seeing her or the fright of Edith's driving.

"Can you believe I drove all the way here from Downton?" Edith began chattering but Sybil tuned her out as she looked at Branson. She tried to discern his mood but his face was a mask.

"You didn't leave" she whispered.

"I said I wouldn't."

Her smile caused his face to soften just a bit and she wasn't sure if that was the slightest flicker of a smile in his eyes. "I-" Whatever he was going to say was drowned out by Edith sharply calling "Sybil!"

Sybil turned to face her sister and snapped "What Edith?"

"You haven't said anything about my driving. I-"

"I'm not so sure that stop was an indication of proficiency" Sybil injected cutting off her sister's babbling and earning a slight chuckle from Branson.

"Well!" Edith huffed. "I think Branson should load your bags so we can get going" Edith's tone clearly conveying her petulance.

Sybil blinked her eyes and took a deep breath. Ever the peacemaker, she wrapped her arm around Edith's shoulder. "I think we have a lot to talk about on the way home" she said as she steered her sister towards the back seat of the motor car as Tom gave her a grateful nod.

Tom laid the tools down on the work bench and reached for a towel to wipe them clean. Picking up the wrench he began cleaning it with his towel, when he heard the familiar clacking of her footsteps on the garage floor. It had been three days since he and Lady Edith had met Sybil in York and he hadn't seen her since. He didn't immediately turn around to face her; instead he continued his work, he would let her break the silence between them.

He was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to say anything, if she was standing there in silence waiting for him to acknowledge her.

"At York when I was cleaning and sterilizing instruments I thought of you. I thought how often I've stood here watching you clean a wrench or file or whatever, I thought of how much care you take in maintaining the tools and how important that is."

He wondered what he was supposed to say to that, pleased that she was able to relate their work, pleased that she had learned something from him, pleased that she had thought about him?

"I am glad you are still here" she quietly murmured.

"I need the job" he replied matter of factly without turning to face her. "Or should I say I'm _flattered_." He practically spit out the word.

"Branson … Please … I …" she hesitated. "It might sound silly to you especially since you're so far from home but I was scared. I had never been away before and I feared not fitting in or that I'd fail miserably. You and cousin Isobel are the only ones that gave me any encouragement."

"And you didn't need the chauffeur talking about his feelings."

"No I didn't." He was surprised by her honesty.

He turned to face her and as always her beauty astounded him. Looking at her dressed in one of her fancy gowns, this one a black skirt with a gray bodice and sheer elbow length sleeves, matching earrings and necklace which probably cost more than he had ever made in his life complimented her dress, just made him realize how foolish he had been.

"I'm sorry Branson. I didn't mean to sound that harsh. I never think of you as just the chauffeur and I'd never belittle your feelings." She looked and sounded so earnest and his heart melted once again. "But I already had so much on my mind."

"I too was afraid. What if after your training you were sent to London or somewhere away from Downton … the thought that I wouldn't see you again … I … I couldn't let you go without letting you know how I feel about you."

She nodded her head before turning away, her teeth chewing on her lower lip. "I'm not ready Branson not now. I want to prove to myself I can be something more than just Lady Sybil."

She turned back to face him. "I can't imagine being here and not having you to talk to" her voice was barely above a whisper. "Have I lost that?"

She hadn't lost his friendship and for that she was grateful. Her father didn't think it appropriate to talk about the war with either his wife or his daughters. But of course Branson wasn't that type of man she thought as she took the newspaper from his hand.

"So you think this is just the start of America's involvement?" she asked.

"They'll be drawn in whether they really want to or not now that Germany's resuming unrestricted submarine warfare."

Their talk of the possibility of America entering the war and what that might mean continued until Branson stopped the motor car in front of the village hospital. If anyone had overheard the two they would have thought it was a conversation between two old friends rather than a chauffeur and a lady of manor.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: As always thank you for the reviews. Despite how this may appear now, this will be a rather short story with only a few more chapters to go. For a shameless plug, to the guest who made the very lovely comments regarding the meeting of Sybil and Tom after her training in York, I did something similar, but longer, in Downton Remembered (Chap 6 - I had to look it up to be sure I didn't totally copy that!)**

 **1924**

Sybil wiped away the errant tear that had fallen down her cheek. Why was it whenever she thought of love she thought of _him?_ She wouldn't cry she told herself for she had already shed too many tears over _him_ although if she were honest with herself .. _._ those tears had really been … her shoulders shivered. She nibbled her bottom lip as she looked over to the side table. Spotting her empty brandy glass she was tempted to fill it again in the hope that maybe if she drank enough she wouldn't remember the past or _him_. After all, it wasn't _him_ she should be thinking of for that was in the past, the long ago far away past and it was her present she should be thinking of.

And her present was … Sybil took in a deep breath and closed her eyes as she slowly exhaled. But it was her past that had brought her here she thought and there was no escaping that. It was what had brought her to London, to Aunt Rosamund's, to the life she now had. And it had brought her to Edwin and his proposal this evening. A most unexpected proposal just like that morning in York and so unintentionally her thoughts again drifted back to the past.

Sitting up, her elbows resting on the chair's arms, Sybil shook her head as her hands rubbed the sides of her face. Why … why did thoughts of _him_ keep floating into her brain.

She snapped her eyes open as the quietness of the library was shattered by the chimes of the grandfather clock striking twelve. The comforting sound brought a faint smile to her lips as each strike of the bell echoed around the room. How many times had she been lost deep in a book and it was only the sounds of a clock chiming that brought her back to reality? She glanced around the room taking in the rich wooden paneled floor to ceiling bookcases. So many treasures on those shelves she thought. _He had been a voracious_ and once again the past floated back into her mind as she recalled how books had played such a role in their friendship.

She bolted from the leather seat, her knitted shawl dropping to the floor. I can't keep doing this she thought, I can't keep remembering. She left her shoes lying on the floor as she fled the library. The marble floor felt cool on her stockinged feet as she stormed across the dimly lit grand foyer and then up the wooden staircase to her bedroom.

Throwing open the bedroom door she stopped on the threshold and looked around the room as if she was seeing it for the very first time. The lamp on her bedside table was lit courtesy of the housemaid who came every evening to close the curtains and turn down the covers on her bed. Her nightgown was draped across the bottom of the bed with her bed slippers on the floor neatly aligned with the nightgown again a courtesy of the housemaid. She had long ago given up the services of a lady's maid but there were certain protocols that Rosamund did insist on hence the evening rituals of a housemaid. So Sybil knew the small china pitcher on the bedside table had been filled with water and the drinking glass beside it had been washed and ready if she needed it during the night.

She spied the book on her nightstand, Agatha Christie's _The Murder on the Links_ , and smiled. Maybe that's what she needed to clear her head she thought, to lose herself in a good murder mystery.

 **October 1917**

In his green livery Branson stands out in the sea of whites, grays, and browns that make up the hospital ward. He's standing there in the middle of the room, a basket of goodies from Mrs. Patmore in his hand, as soldiers dart around him carrying stretchers bearing wounded soldiers. Sybil and the other nurses are scurrying about making up beds or settling the wounded into newly made up beds. Finding a more obscure spot in a corner of the room Branson's watching Sybil as she goes about her duties in the chaos of the ward. Even among this chaos he sees her as a vision of loveliness despite the dull gray uniform with the long white apron and the white head scarf that covers most of her deeply rich brown hair. He is surprised that her apron is still starkly white but he knows that by the time she finishes her shift it won't be. It's not the first time he's watched her go about her duties but as he does every time he's impressed with her calmness, her competence, her sense of duty and he's struck by how well this job suits her.

When she finally becomes aware of his presence she nods at him but doesn't speak as she continues arranging blankets and pillows for a soldier that looks like he's fresh from the battlefield with white bandages soiled with streaks of pale red wrapped around the top of his head and his left shoulder and arm. Branson waits until she chooses an empty bed and begins dressing the bare mattress before approaching her. Now standing so near her he sees the stress reflected in her eyes and the firmness of her jaw. Someone else might not have detected those signs but by now he knows her so well. She isn't happy about the basket but he doubts that's the reason she seems a bit off kilter.

"I doubt I'll have the time for it but thank you anyhow" she comments as more patients are wheeled or carried into the ward.

"Are they coming from Ypres?" Tom asks as he looks around the room that seems to be filling with the wounded. For months battles had been raging around West Flanders in Belgium near the town Ypres in what was now being called the Third Battle of Ypres.

Sybil nodded her head as she tucked in the sheet at the bottom of the bed. "I expect we'll be full soon."

Tom set the basket on the floor beside the bed. Grabbing the other half of the sheet he pulled it across the top of the bed.

" _Is it what you thought it would be?"_

Rather than answering him immediately she turns her head and looks across the room her eyes focused on the rows of beds with injured soldiers but it isn't just those soldiers her mind sees. She sees those who've come before them and knows those in this room won't be the last to be here.

Shaking her head, she turns to face him. Finally she replies " _No, it's more savage and more cruel than I could have imagined. But I feel useful for the first time in my life. And that must be a good thing."_

It was an odd sensation for Sybil to fill useful or that she had a purpose in life. Although her work was fulfilling and she never regretted her decision to become a nurse, there were times when Sybil had to get away even if only for just a few hours. She needed that break not just from the hospital ward with the injured but from the war itself.

Sometimes she'd sit in one of the gardens and there in the midst of the surrounding beauty of flowering plants and the sweet scents of lilacs and roses she'd immerse herself in a good book. As a child she loved to her adventure stories or silly stories or magical tales all of which opened her imagination and took her out of the well-ordered world of Downton and just like then she now read them to forget the ugliness and horror of the war.

She'd take long walks appreciating the buds of a cherry tree that promised to soon deliver the colours of spring, the calmness of sheep contently grazing in soft green pastures on a warm summer day or the dazzling array of colours that filled the woods in the height of fall. She came to appreciate the stillness of fields blanketed in snow. Often she wasn't alone on those walks for there was one person she had turned to for companionship.

Branson had become the one person she turned to for comfort when she felt weary from long hours attending to wounds, to vent her anger at the savageness of war or her helplessness when there was nothing medicine could do to heal the injured, or revel in the joy she felt when an injured soldier could talk or walk again.

It was the loveliest of fall afternoons. Without a cloud in the sky the sun shined brightly giving the air a warmth that hinted more of summer than fall. With the sun at their backs, the lake before them shimmered in the sun's golden rays and its darker blueness complimented the lighter colored sky. Sybil looked at the lake and thought of how often she had come here during her childhood. When she was young, probably six or seven or even eight years old, she came here looking for fun which in those days meant catching tadpoles or frogs, seeing how far she could throw stones, and taking off her shoes and socks and wading into the very shallow water. It was about as far from the house as her little legs could take her and she would often rest on a fallen log before even reaching here. Sometimes she wouldn't make it this far instead opting to play on the long thin stretch of the lake, which seemed more like a creek, that meandered from this main body of the lake back towards the house.

When she was a bit older she'd come here to escape from her bickering sisters or hide from her governess. Sometimes the little girl in her would emerge and she'd try to catch tadpoles or go wading. She'd try fishing but never seemed to catch anything. But it was a lovely spot to sit and read a book or to think or dream.

Sybil looked across the blanket at Tom who sat with his back resting against the old log, his tie and jacket neatly folded and lying on the blanket, his eyes staring out at the shimmering water. _Tom_. She wasn't sure when it had happened but she now always thought of him as Tom and not Branson. That her best friend was an Irish socialist chauffeur was unexpected to her and would be, to put it mildly, baffling to her family if they knew.

But lucky for her, and for him, her family had no inkling of the friendship that had developed between them for otherwise her father would have sent him packing long ago. For that was a strange thing about this war in that it had given Sybil a sense of freedom that she had never had before. There was no one constantly monitoring her comings and goings and she took full advantage of that whether it was stealing away to the garage or, on days like this one, coming to places like here.

The remains of their picnic lunch were scattered on the blanket between them.

"Definitely the south Pacific" Tom nodded his head as if to emphasize his words. Their conversation on what was the best adventure novel, Sybil was torn between _Treasure Island_ and _King Solomon's Mines_ while Tom favored _The Mysterious Island_ , had somehow morphed into where they would prefer to be stranded if they were shipwrecked.

"The south Pacific?" Sybil was rather incredulous with Tom's choice. "But there's so many scattered tiny islands there and you might never be rescued."

"Well …" Tom looked at her and gave her that cheeky grin that often made her blush. "Ah but what a life … warm weather … clear blue seas … swinging in a hammock suspended from swaying palm trees …. all those native girls … I might not want to be rescued."

But as he watched Sybil's eyes widen at his mention of native girls he felt his own cheeks becoming flushed. To cover his embarrassment he quickly added "I mean aren't a lot of those that take to the seas running from something? So maybe they wouldn't want to be rescued and sent back to their old life."

Sybil turned her face turned towards the lake. "I always thought people looking for adventure were trying to find something not running away. I don't mean something tangible like gold or jewels but something that's missing in their lives."


	4. Chapter 4

**1924**

"You seem preoccupied" Rosamund commented as she looked at her niece. Usually Sybil was quite talkative during their luncheons expounding on what Rosamund amusingly thought of as Sybil's cause of the day. But today Sybil was uncharacteristically subdued and she had hardly taken a bite of her food.

"I'm just a bit tired I guess" Sybil answered. She wasn't sure why she didn't tell Rosamund about Edwin's proposal. No that wasn't quite true she knew exactly why she didn't bring that subject up.

"Stayed out too late dancing last night?"

Sybil gave a small shake of her head as she answered "No nothing like that." She looked down at her plate "in fact I was home before by ten."

Sybil looked up to see her aunt peering intently at her and she immediately wondered if Hanes had said something to her. "Edwin had to leave early this morning on a buying trip to the continent."

Rosamund nodded her head in understanding. "So he won't be coming with you tonight."

Sybil knitted her brows in confusion. "Coming with me tonight?"

"Surely you haven't forgotten about the dinner at the Haverley's tonight?"

Sybil set her spoon down, bowed her head, closed her eyes and rubbed her hand across her forward. She had forgotten.

"Really Sybil." The tone of her aunt's voice caused Sybil to raise her head and look at her. "It's the only engagement of _the season_ that you've accepted."

Since moving in with her aunt Sybil had deliberately abstained from what those in aristocratic circles considered _must_ events. She still found herself invited to dinner parties but those invitations were mostly from old friends, whether they were friends of hers or her family, while a few were from those who thought a guest such as _Lady Sybil_ would enhance their social standings. While she might accept the former, she usually declined the latter unless she thought it would be of some use to her or more importantly her causes.

Much to the consternation of her parents, her social life largely consisted of attending events such as fundraisers for social or political causes she deemed worthy or attending art exhibits, concerts, poetry readings, and university lectures.

Rosamund stared at her niece. She had always found Sybil, with her genuinely good nature a refreshing change from her prickly and often self centered older sisters. Certainly as a child she had been a handful as one of such a curious and exuberant nature often was and there was no denying she could be stubborn when she didn't get her way. But all in all she'd describe her youngest niece as warm and kind-hearted. Qualities she still displayed in her work and her causes, yet something had changed about her although Rosamund couldn't quite decide on what it was.

When Sybil had first come to live with her, Rosamund thought she'd become a member of the Bright Young Things as the tabloid press dubbed that group of young aristocrats and socialites. With her title and her beauty Sybil would have stood out in even that group yet Sybil was far too serious to spend her evenings drinking and partying till dawn.

Although her head was bowed, Sybil sensed Rosamund's scrutiny. She was used to her parents and even her sisters questioning and disapproving of her lifestyle but Aunt Rosamund had always been more receptive. Sybil wasn't sure if Rosamund was more open and broad-minded because she lived in cosmopolitan London rather than some isolated country manor or if it was her own way of rebelling against her stodgy and more traditional mother and brother.

"Didn't one of the older Haverley girls come out with you? Ella or Ellen or -?"

"It's Helen" Sybil injected seeing how Rosamund was floundering with the name. "I actually still see her quite often since she's involved with the women's movement for equal voting rights."

"Oh" Rosamund raised her brow "so that's why you accepted this invitation?"

Sybil gave her aunt a smirk and a quick laugh. "Actually I'm curious as to what Delaphine, that's the one that's coming out, will say and wear. She's quite the feminist."

 **October 1918**

" _You're too scared to admit it but you're in love with me."_ Tom's words echoed in Sybil's mind as she walked along the top of the ridge. This had always been one of her favorite places on the estate. From here one could see most of the massive structure that Sybil had always called home. No matter how large and intimidating the house seemed close up it was only when viewed from someplace like here that one could fully appreciate the enormity of it all. It sat like a large rectangular stone box with the central inner tower dwarfing the corner towers.

Yet it wasn't just the house that captured one's sight for from here one could see miles of the surrounding grounds of forested hills and rolling green pastures and even a lake, just one of the three lakes that graced the estate. As Sybil halted her rambling and viewed the scene below her, a small herd of deer ambled through one of the far fields before darting into the woods.

Sybil sat on the ground, pulling her feet in close so that she rested her arms on her knees. It was always a bit windy up here and the wind rustled her skirt and the sleeves of her blouse and tousled her hair. She had had a very happy childhood playing on these grounds. When she looked at the large stone edifice she didn't just see the imposing stonework or improbable number of windows, she saw her family home. It was the place where she had been born just like her sisters and father and grandfather and so many other Crawleys before her many of whose portraits now lined the walls as if watching those who came after them.

" _You're too scared to admit it but you're in love with me."_ Tom wasn't totally right about that for she was in love with him or at least what she perceived as love but she was twenty-two years old and what did she really know about love? She had nothing to compare her current feelings with for she had never been courted. It would have been expected after her season that men would have come calling. But it a been a mere two weeks afterwards that England had declared war on Germany and so men didn't come calling on eligible women but answered the call to arms.

It was this war that had changed so many things. It was this war that enabled her to sit here contemplating marriage to the chauffeur. Until the war Sybil had never thought of what she wanted to do with her life. Actually it had never occurred to her to think of such a thing for women like her life was already predetermined. But the war had given her her first taste of freedom and with that now the desire to do something more with her life.

 _You're asking me to give up my whole world and everyone in it._

 _And that's too high a price to pay?_

 _It is a high price._

Sybil sighed. "It is a high price" she spoke aloud into the wind. I can give all this up she thought looking at her home and the surrounding grounds but giving up the people I love … she shuddered.

 _And what of your people? Would they accept me? The Anglican aristo?_

What if his family didn't accept her? Wasn't she a symbol of everything they hated?

Sybil bowed her head as her hands rubbed the sides of her face as so many thoughts flooded her brain. It would be a very different life. Tom thinks that just because I've taken to nursing I could live a much humbler life. I know I'm not interested in managing an estate like Downton but he seems to forget that each day I put on a uniform that has been cleaned and starched and ironed by someone else. I've never had to do laundry or scrub floors or clean toilets. How will we eat? We can't live on toast, tea, and cakes.

What if I can't adjust? What if I can't be the wife he wants? What if I disappoint him? Especially since he's waited for me all this time what if he sees an ideal version of me and not who, or what, I really am?

Even though the war was winding down, it was thought it was only a matter of time before Germany surrendered, Sybil remained busy at the hospital for wounded still arrived from the battlefields where talk of surrender seemed premature. She had thrown herself into her work these last few days as a way of avoiding Tom.

She found him as always in the garage working on one of the motor cars even at this late hour. She stood silently at the doorway, chewing on her lower lip as she watched him working. Gathering up her courage, she deeply inhaled and stepped into the garage.

He looked up and saw her standing there looking so beautiful in her black and silver gown. It seemed rather rare these days to see her in something other than her nurses uniform and even rarer to see her dressed in such finery.

"Tom" she began hesitantly. Her eyes darted from him to the floor and her tongue licked her lower lip.

He set the wrench on the floor, picked up the clean rag he always kept near him and began wiping his hands as he stood up. "You look lovely."

His words seemed to make her even more nervous as she bowed her head and ran her hands up and down the side of her dress. "It's an old dress from before the war" she mumbled as much to herself as to him.

It was only then that he realized she seemed a bit anxious like when she first started coming to the garage. He waited for her to say something but she kept her head down as she fiddled with her dress.

"Even though they say the war will be over soon, it seems like you're still so busy" he broke the unusual silence between them.

She slightly shook her head. "I guess the battlefields will be the last place to know."

She moved a step closer to him, almost close enough that he could reach out and touch her but he sensed she had something else in mind and his heart sank a little bit.

"I know I told you I'd give you my answer after the war" she finally began.

Now fully alert and apprehensive of what was coming, Tom picked up his rag and twisted it in his hands as if rubbing off nonexistent oil stains.

* * *

Tom stood at the stern as the ship gently rocked in the surprisingly quiet Irish Sea, his face turned towards the fading coast of England. A few tears silently made their way down his cheeks. It wasn't just England that was fading it was also his hopes and dreams fading. She had consumed his thoughts, and his heart, for so long.

Wait? She wanted him to wait. How much longer was he supposed to wait? She wanted him to wait while she continued her nursing maybe trying for a job in York or even going for further training.

Her answer was she wasn't sure. What kind of answer was that?

He pulled his jacket collar up around his neck to ward off the chill of the sea air. No he was done with waiting. He was done with her.

 _Any reviews would be greatly appreciated._


	5. Chapter 5

**1924**

Sybil sat in the wingback chair positioned at such an angle that she could sit, her feet propped on the matching ottoman, looking out one of the tall wide windows that faced Eaton Square. A variety of shrubs, including azaleas and lilacs whose blooms in various shades of red, pink, and purple cascaded over the wrought iron fence that enclosed the gardens, shielded most of the lawn and flower beds from the sight of those walking on the wide pavement that separated the garden from the street. But from her perch here in her second floor bedroom, Sybil had a commanding view of the gardens and she often found herself sitting here admiring the view and sometimes even thinking of the gardens of Downton.

She pulled the ties of her favorite silk dressing gown a little tighter around her as a cool breeze drifted through the open window bringing with it the faint smell of lilacs. Dinner at the Haverley's wouldn't begin until close to ten o'clock although guests could arrive for drinks and hors d'oeuvres beginning as early as half past eight. Not all those who arrived for drinks would stay for dinner as there were so many dinners and balls during _the season_ that it had become common for one to have pre-dinner drinks at one house and then attend dinner at another and maybe even drop into a third for the dancing. It was, Sybil thought, something that had changed since _her_ season.

 _Her season._ She gave a derisive laugh since she hadn't thought of her season in so long.

In some ways her season had been a lot of fun. She loved catching up with old friends she had grown up with as well as making new acquaintances. She loved dancing until the early morning hours. However, after a few days and nights there was also the tediousness of seeing the same people over and over again, after all only thirty or forty girls were presented at court at any one time, trying to make polite conversation with people you had no interest in and the seemingly endless dinners and garden parties.

She had been surprised how rigid everything was although looking back now she realized she shouldn't have been so surprised. Hadn't she always been chafing against the set of rules and formalities that governed aristocratic life? Sybil thought one of the sillier formalities of _the season_ had been the morning ritual of riding or strolling in Hyde Park as if on parade with eligible suitors lining the route scouting the possibilities. She had absolutely hated that and after one such morning refused to do any more.

It had seemed especially silly considering all that was going on in London. Only the week before she and her family arrived there had been a suffrage march on Buckingham Palace that had erupted in violence between the marchers and the thousands of policemen positioned around the palace just to combat the march. Women had been arrested including the famous Emmeline Pankhurst. Of course the only open talk about such matters at the society gatherings Sybil attended had dwelt on the violence of the female marchers.

Sybil glanced over to her bed where her sapphire blue gown for this evening was laid across the sea green coverlet. It was an old gown that she hadn't worn in ages but then she didn't have much use for ball gowns these days. She blushed now just thinking about the sheer number of expensive gowns and dresses she had worn to all those balls and dinners and garden parties during her season. Her father had spared no expense as his youngest daughter made her debut in society.

While she had been considered one of the debutantes of the year, indeed she had been subject to more invitations that she could possibly accept, she had failed in what many, probably her own parents included, saw as the real purpose for _the season._ She had failed to secure any serious marriage proposals. Not that Sybil herself considered that a failure. Indeed she hadn't actually given serious consideration to any of the eligible men she had danced with. At eighteen Sybil knew she wasn't ready for marriage and certainly none of the men she had met that season had given her any reason to change her mind.

Sybil shook her head and emitted a slight snort. It had been on the train ride back to Downton that she realized the man she found most interesting hadn't attended any of the balls or garden parties. That he hadn't even been in London. She couldn't wait to get back to Downton and talk to Branson about the events that had happened during the past three weeks. Not the events of her social life but the events that had taken place on the streets of London and in Parliament. She had been able to obtain some newspapers that covered the large suffrage march on Buckingham Palace as well as the House of Commons passing the Irish Home Rule Bill just days after that suffrage march and she looked forward to his views on both events.

The unexpected blaring of a motor car horn pulled Sybil back to the present and to the view outside her window. It must be down the block she thought as no motor car was in sight. The breeze rustled the azalea and lilac blossoms making them appear as waves.

Sybil emitted a light laugh. If Hugh Haverley and his wife Lady Margot thought Delphine would find a husband during her season she was afraid they'd be sorely disappointed for Delphine was much like her in that regard. Although unlike herself who had looked forward to her season, a surprising thought now that Sybil thought about it, Delphine had absolutely no interest in the rituals of the season other than possibly drinking and dancing till dawn.

 **February 1919**

Sybil pulled her woolen scarf a bit tighter hoping to ward off the chilly breeze that nudged at her back. Although the sun was shining brightly in an almost cloudless sky, the air was chilled as it crossed the cold water of the lake. It had been too chilly to sit on the old fallen log so now she hurried back along the path she had just walked hoping to find some place more sheltered. Taking long walks around the estate had become her means of escaping the drudgery that was now her life.

Yet there was one place she never walked to anymore.

" _I'm not a consolation prize."_

Even now four months later, or four months, two weeks and three days to be exact as Sybil noted the calendar every morning, as she walked through the woods those words rattled about in her mind. The woods ended in a clearing near the back of the house. This clearing had always been a favorite of hers because in the late spring and summer it was awash in vivid reds, purples, yellows and oranges of flowering wildflowers but on a winter morning such as this it was devoid of any color except the brown of the winter ground.

Sybil took a seat on the old iron garden bench that had been placed here by her request. That as an eight year old she could command grown men to do her bidding had never seemed odd to her, in fact it was something she had never thought about until Tom. In this open field the bright sunshine gave the winter air an unexpected warmth and Sybil closed her eyes as she lifted her face towards the sky hoping the sun would dry the unexpected tears now falling down her cheeks. _I'm done crying_ she told herself as she quickly raised her gloved hand and wiped away the tears.

She opened her eyes as she heard dry leaves crunching but relief washed over her at the sight of two deer at the edge of the woods for she was in no mood to talk at least not with anyone at Downton. She was still angry at her father for he had squashed any plans she had on continuing her nursing. Even her mother whom she had hoped would support her, after all her mother seemed a bit lost these days without having a convalescent home to run, had instead sided with her father. "Now with the war over" her mother had said "things will go back to normal. Our life will be like it was before."

But that was just it thought Sybil, I don't want the life I had before the war. The war had given her not only a purpose but also a taste of freedom she never had before and that was what she had tried to explain that night to Tom. _Give me some time to experience life._ But he hadn't understood.

"And how long do you expect me to wait while you experience life? Until you find something or someone offering something better than me?" He threw the grease stained rag to the ground. "Or if, after experiencing _life_ " oh how he had sneered at the word "you don't find something better…"

He took a step closer to her and she could see the pools of unshed tears in his eyes. She reached out to touch him, to tell him that's not what she meant, but he had turned and walked away from her. He stopped at the open garage door and turned back to face her. "I'm not a consolation prize Sybil."

 _I'm not a consolation prize Sybil._ Her lips trembled as she recalled once again the last words Tom had ever spoken to her. She had stood shocked in the garage as she watched him march into the darkness. When she had finally recovered her wits and went after him he had disappeared.

Tomorrow she had thought, I'll explain it better tomorrow.

But the next day he was gone. She thought at first she had heard wrong when Carson announced to her father Branson had left with no notice, no warning. Her hand shook so much she had barely been able to set her tea cup down on its saucer without spilling the remainder of her tea. She had raced to the garage thinking it was a mistake, that he couldn't leave, wouldn't leave, without saying goodbye, without letting her explain more.

The garage looked much as it always did with the motor cars sparkling and the tools neatly arranged on the work shelf or on the hooks he had hammered into the wall. Gone were any sign of the man who had worked there, the tan coveralls that usually hung on a hook on the back door, the pile of rags that he used to clean his hands and the tools, the few photographs of his family and Ireland that had been tucked into the wooden slats of the pained window over the work bench.

She only managed to get through the next two months because of her work. The war hadn't yet ended and she had patients to care for. Even after peace was declared on November 11th, patients remained at the Abbey until early December and even later at the cottage hospital.

She sent him a Christmas card but received no reply to the letter she had enclosed.

She had muddled through the holiday season without much hope and very little joy.

Now as she sat here on the garden bench in the barren meadow on this crisp February morning she realized she had to do something. _He_ was gone. Her job as a nurse was gone. Her mother was busy planning social events with purpose of securing her a husband.

She had told him she wanted to experience life but spending her days adrift, walking around the estate, reading books, pretending to be interested in those around her wasn't experiencing life. And then it suddenly came to her … Aunt Rosamund and that large empty house in Eaton Square.

She'd move to London, move in with Aunt Rosamund. She'd find a job as a nurse. She'd explore the city with its museums and art galleries. She'd become involved in the suffrage movement. And if London didn't work out she'd think about moving to New York to her Grandmama's.

As Sybil focused on her plan she might have recalled a conversation with Tom from years ago.

" _The south Pacific?" Sybil was rather incredulous with Tom's choice. "But there's so many scattered tiny islands there and you might never be rescued."_

" _Well …" Tom looked at her and gave her that cheeky grin that often made her blush. "Ah but what a life … warm weather … clear blue seas … swinging in a hammock suspended from swaying palm trees …. all those native girls … I might not want to be rescued."_

 _But as he watched Sybil's eyes widen at his mention of native girls he felt his own cheeks becoming flushed. To cover his embarrassment he quickly added "I mean aren't a lot of those that take to the seas running from something? So maybe they wouldn't want to be rescued and sent back to their old life."_

 _Sybil turned her face turned towards the lake. "I always thought people looking for adventure were trying to find something not running away. I don't mean something tangible like gold or jewels but something that's missing in their lives."_

But Sybil didn't think about this conversation as she formulated her plan that February morning. She didn't think about whether she was trying to find something or just running away. And what of Tom Branson? He had run away from Downton and her. As Sybil sat on that iron bench making her plans she had no idea how far he had run.


	6. Chapter 6

1924

On her walk home from the clinic Sybil took the shortcut through the private garden of Eaton Square. The garden proved to be too tempting and she decided to take a few minutes and bask in the sun. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back to fully feel the warmth of the sun on her face. During her childhood, whenever the family visited Aunt Rosamund she always came to this garden to play. She suddenly thought of her late Uncle Marmaduke and the times he'd lift her up, holding her outstretched body by her legs and her arms, propelling her to and fro like she was flying or when she became a bit older, and bigger, he'd lift her onto his shoulders and run around this very garden making her again feel like she was flying. If she had still been a child she would have stretched out her arms and raced around the enclosed garden of Eaton Square but grown women didn't run around gardens and so she remained seated in the wrought iron chair.

After the past couple of days it felt good to be in the fresh air. The previous two days she had worked ten hour shifts at the hospital and today she had done almost five hours at the clinic she volunteered at once or twice a week depending on her hospital shifts and the need of the clinic.

Now sitting in the luxury of the private garden, for the garden was only available to the lucky residents of Eaton Square, surrounded by a bounty of blooming flowers in a rainbow of colors, the air scented with the sweet smells of lilacs and a few early roses, Sybil contemplated the dichotomy that was her life. Today and yesterday and the day before she had very much been Nurse Crawley. But the day before that, or rather the night before, she had very much been Lady Sybil Crawley dancing till dawn at Delphine Haverley's coming out ball.

The dinner and ball had been fun, much more than she had anticipated. It had been nice to see a few old friends, including a few from the landed gentry of Sybil's youth that she rarely saw these days, and she had enjoyed catching up on their lives. Of course there had also been some friends from the women's groups that both Sybil and Delphine were part of as well as people she had never met before. The dancing went on till dawn when the group moved on to breakfast. It had been a fun, carefree evening.

This evening she was scheduled to attend a cocktail party for the opening of an art exhibit something very much Lady Sybil and not Nurse Crawley. Just thinking about the exhibit reminded her of Edwin and she realized she hadn't thought about him for days. Whatever thoughts she had of Edwin disappeared as a few fat raindrops plopped on her face. Opening her eyes, Sybil was surprised to see that the sun had been replaced by a few ominous looking clouds causing her to dash towards the front door of the house. Just as she opened the door the clouds burst open drenching the street in a sudden downpour.

She had barely stepped into the grand foyer when Hanes appeared and not for the first time Sybil marveled how quickly the butler appeared whenever she entered the house. It was just one of the things that Hanes had in common with Carson.

"My timing was perfect Hanes" she laughed as she pulled the front door shut.

He nodded his head and smiled at her. "Quite lucky indeed my lady" he pleasantly responded. "Not only with the rain but I'm just getting ready to serve tea in the sitting room."

"Oh heavens!" Sybil exclaimed. "I didn't realize how late it is."

Although tea at her aunt's house wasn't quite the formal affair as it was at Downton, especially when it was just her and Rosamund, Sybil darted upstairs for a quick wash up. After exchanging her nurses' uniform with a plain dark blue aline skirt and a floral print blouse, she joined Aunt Rosamund in the sitting room for tea.

The small sitting room where Aunt Rosamund preferred to take tea was a very pleasant room and second to the library as Sybil's favorite room. Decorated in yellows with touches of orange and fitted with an overstuffed sofa and two matching lounge chairs the room was a comfy place to sit and while away the hours. The room's sole window was an overly wide floor to ceiling window from which one had a commanding view of the back garden. Placed in front of this window were two rocking chairs separated by a round mahogany table which made an inviting place to sit and admire the formal back garden.

Rosamund, sitting in one of the lounge chairs, looked up from her magazine at the sound of Sybil entering the room, a smile spreading across her face at the sight of her niece. "How lovely you're home and we can have a nice catch up. I feel as if I haven't seen you since the evening of the Haverley's dinner."

Returning her aunt's smile, Sybil spoke "It does seem that way."

After pouring herself a cup of tea Sybil looked longingly at the tray of small sandwiches. "My lunch was rather skimpy today so I'll admit this all looks so appealing."

Placing two of the cucumber and smoked salmon sandwiches and one egg salad sandwich on her plate, Sybil sat down in one of the lounge chairs opposite her aunt. She took a bite of the cucumber and salmon sandwich before speaking. "This certainly hits the spot."

Rosamund waited until Sybil finished her sandwich before commenting "You seem in better spirits today."

Sybil, just reaching for the second cucumber and salmon sandwich placed it back on her plate. "I … I…" Sybil wasn't quite sure what to say to her aunt's unexpected comment.

"I just mean you seemed to have something on your mind the other day."

Rosamund looked kindly at her niece. "Maybe it had to do with Edwin leaving."

Sybil looked away from her aunt and towards the window. The sudden downpour had stopped and now the sun was shining once again. "Not really" she mumbled so low that Rosamund could barely hear her.

Turning back towards Rosamund Sybil asked "How did you know Uncle Marmaduke was the one?"

Whatever Rosamund thought might be bothering Sybil certainly wasn't this. Was Sybil finally in love?

"Marmaduke was different from anyone I had met. He was so handsome with a wicked sense of humor-" Rosamund went on to talk much more candidly than Sybil expected about how she met him, how her parents were not pleased since he didn't have a title but that she didn't care for she had met someone that made her heart beat just a bit harder whenever she saw him, how she felt flustered when his hand touched hers.

Rosamund stopped her recollections of Marmaduke and asked "Do you think you're in love?"

Sybil paused for a moment before shaking her head no. She just couldn't bring herself to talk aloud of what she had been thinking these past few days. "I was just sitting in the garden and a vision of Uncle Marmaduke in that garden running around carrying me on his shoulders just popped into my head."

Rosamund smiled. It had been so long since someone had said something nice about her late husband. Before she could say anything more Hanes opened the door.

"Mrs. Beauchamp is here madam."

Rosamund stood up to welcome her unexpected guest. "What a nice surprise Marcelene. Please do come in and join us for tea."

Sybil stayed only long enough to be courteous before leaving the room claiming she needed to get ready for her evening at the art exhibit.

Sybil sat at her dressing table and looked at her image reflected in the mirror. I left Downton to experience life she thought. I've continued my nursing. I've got my committee meetings and the suffrage meetings. I go to musicals and art exhibits like tonight.

But I've never felt my heart flutter when someone's hand brushed against mine. I've never felt my face blush in response to something a man said to me nor did feel the electricity in the air just being in the same room with him. I've never felt that way about anyone except … she closed her eyes except Tom.

Opening her eyes she stared at her reflection as she made a decision.

 **September 1923**

He had returned to Ireland hurt and heart broken. While he might sometimes talk without thinking, blurting out his unfiltered thoughts, and, as his mother often said, wore his heart on his sleeve, he didn't make decisions lightly. He had weighed his decision to move to Downton considering the pluses, foremost of which was better pay and what that would mean for his family, as well as the minuses mainly leaving behind his family and Ireland. It would only be for a couple of years he told himself. But then he had met _her._

Leaving Downton had been a hasty retreat, a decision made in hurt and anger. He hadn't thought what it meant to return to Ireland with no job and no prospects. His only thoughts had been to get away from _her_.

But none of this was on his mind today. He wasn't thinking of why he had returned to Ireland. No, his thoughts were on why he had left again.

It had taken him over two years and a circuitous route to get here. Not that when he started out he had plans to end up here nor, for that matter, did he have any particular destination in mind. His only plan was to … well he didn't really have any plan. He talked of wanting to see a bit of the world, to seek new opportunities, to broaden his mind but what he really wanted was to escape. To escape Ireland.

The elections held shortly after Tom returned to Ireland gave him hope that Irish independence was forthcoming. But declaring independence, as the newly elected Sinn Fein had done, wasn't the same as actually having independence. Tom's disillusionment with the treaty ending the ensuing war turned to despair as Irish turned against Irish over the terms of the treaty. Feeling disheartened and discouraged as Irish fought Irish, he left Ireland before this rift became the Irish Civil War.

Finishing half of his sandwich, Tom leaned back against the tree trunk and looked out at the scene below him. From this spot at the top of the hill, he had a wonderful view of the gently rolling green fields, some separated by stone fences and dotted with sheep, that spread below him until dropping dramatically into the sea. The greenery, the sheep, the stone fences, the cliffs, the sea, it was, thought Tom, a scene that could be from Ireland rather than the south island of New Zealand.

He had been away from Ireland for over two years now and New Zealand was the first place to truly remind him of home. He had never felt like that even in Boston despite being surrounded by Irish and certainly not in New York where so many of the Irish were crammed into crowded, filthy tenements.

Although sunlight filtered through the lacework of the tree's branches, Tom pulled up the collar of his jacket to ward off the chill from the breezes that had suddenly kicked up. It was just mid-September and Tom's automatic impression was that the chilly breezes were an early sign of fall but then noticing the buds on the tree branches he remembered that here at the bottom of the world it was spring not fall that was approaching.

Debating whether or not to finish his sandwich, Tom opened his thermos and took a sip of hot sweet tea. Rummaging through his knapsack for his pen and notebook, he touched on the chunk of cheese, the slab of banana bread which was more like cake than bread and the apples that Mrs. Bartley, his landlord, had included in his lunch.

He chuckled as he recalled her words _"A strapping man like yourself Mr. Branson needs a hearty lunch."_ He had spent much of the past few years doing manual labor. Sometimes it was back breaking work, stevedore and gold miner came readily to mind, and sometimes it was the less brawn and more brain work of a mechanic where he had branched out from motor cars to railways and even a short stint with aeroplanes. Coupled with his new found love of swimming, something so much more pleasant and appealing in the tropical climates than the cold Irish sea, he had developed muscles that he wasn't even aware he had.

While manual labor had been a means of support and swimming a means of fun, his first love still remained writing. Finding his pen and notebook he set them beside him on the blanket while he took another drink of his tea and stared out at the distant sea. He smiled as he remembered thinking traveling across the Irish Sea to and from England had once been a big adventure to him. Now he had traveled across the Atlantic to America and then made a more meandering trek across and down the Pacific Ocean.

Oh how much he had seen these past years. Boston and New York hadn't held much allure for him and he moved on much more quickly than he had expected. Traveling by rail across America drove home just how large and expansive that country was. He found the natural beauty of San Francisco's setting made it much more interesting that the other American cities he had seen. He might have stayed there more than four months but the dampness, chill and fog of winter beckoned him to move on.

Signing on as a deck hand on a steamer he headed for Honolulu. He was surprised three days out from San Francisco the ocean water became much bluer. He could still remember his first sighting of land – mighty mountains covered with thick vegetation plunging down into an intensely blue ocean. He had instantly fallen in love with the place for it was so different from anyplace he had ever seen before. Everywhere he looked he was surrounded by an exotic beauty – the mountains, the sea, the sand, the vegetation and even the women, especially the women.

Even now when he thought of Honolulu he thought of the colors. The clear blues of the sea, the intense blue of the sky that often erupted with colorful rainbows after the frequent short rain showers, the soft white sand of the beaches, the array of fish in a rainbow of colors easily spotted through the clear waters, the lush greenery of ferns, the vivid colors of orchids, the pinks and whites of sweetly scented plumeria, the bright reds of hibiscus plants.

There was of course an underside that wasn't so pretty. The few rich planters that seemed to control everything. The exploitation of cheap foreign labor for the sugar cane and pineapple fields. Yet despite this he might still have been there if it wasn't for Henry Blanchford.

He had met Henry in a way that seemed so insignificant at the time. Henry's car had broken down and Tom stopped to help. While Tom worked on the car, they had an interesting conversation covering a broad range of topics entwined with politics but neither talked about their future plans. So it was quite surprising when two days later they ran into each other again at the pier preparing to board the ocean liner for America. It was doubtful they'd see each other on the voyage what with Henry in first class and Tom in second but on the first night out Henry came across Tom on the deck admiring the nighttime sky. By the end of their voyage, impressed with the younger man's intelligence and eloquence, Henry offered Tom a job of sorts. As Tom would travel around America or wherever his travels led him, he would write articles for Henry's magazine. Henry didn't want typical travel articles about what a visitor's should see but rather articles that brought the location to life for the reader.

Those travels had taken him from America to Hong Kong then Australia and now New Zealand. His columns provided some money for Tom which he had supplemented by taking on a variety of odd jobs some of which were the basis for his articles.

Tom picked up the notebook he had laid beside him and an envelope fell out. It contained a letter from one of his sisters. Although he regularly wrote his family getting post from them was more sporadic since he never knew where he'd be. In addition to publishing a magazine Henry had other business interests around the world and Tom used Henry's foreign offices as his post box. This letter he now held in his hands had been written over two months ago but Tom had just picked it up in Christchurch this morning. Usually he would tear open his letters immediately but today he had been sidetracked in Henry's office, first by meeting the new office manager, then receiving instructions Henry had sent on an article he'd like Tom to consider writing, then talking to manager's very pretty blonde secretary. The last had been the most pleasant and had ended with Tom making plans to take her out to dinner and the motion pictures on Saturday.

He had left the office feeling rather elated and it wasn't till now that he remembered the letter. To his surprise Sinead had included a couple of photographs. One was of Sinead's three young children but it was the other one that caused Tom to take a breath. It was of his youngest sister Orla in a nursing uniform. But as he stared at the picture he no longer saw Orla in her gray dress with the starched white scarf wrapped around her head but rather he saw another young woman, a dark haired girl with hair he wanted to run his fingers through and eyes so blue they made him think of the sky. A woman who had broken his heart.

He closed his eyes and ran his hand across his forehead. It had been so long since he had thought of _her_.


	7. Chapter 7

**July 1924**

Sybil stood with her body braced against the railing that ran around the top outside deck of the ferry. She didn't need to lean into the railing to keep her balance for the sea was surprising quite calm and she wished she felt as calm. Not that she was feeling any sort of sea sickness but rather it was the realization of what she was doing that had finally hit her as she stood here looking out at the horizon.

She had come out on the deck while the sky still retained most of the darkest of night with just faint hints of lighter grays and blues streaks beginning to appear. So deep in thought of what she was doing, she hadn't noticed the blackness turning lighter and lighter until now the gray of the water sparkled like diamonds in places where hit by the rays of the fast rising sun.

To some it might seem that Sybil's decision had been hastily made but Sybil saw it differently. To her it was something that had been brewing just below the surface for quite a while whether or not she wanted to acknowledge it and Edwin's proposal was the catalyst that brought everything to a head. For Sybil finally realized that she was still in love with Tom Branson and that she couldn't be with anyone else, couldn't fall in love with someone else until she settled things with him.

She stood facing Ireland or at least the direction of Ireland since it was still too far away to actually be seen but she thought the sea gulls swooping around the ship indicated land would soon be within sight. For just a moment as she stood on the open deck with the wind softly brushing her hair and that briny smell of the sea tickling her nose she was transported back to those times when, as a child, she had traveled to New York on an ocean liner far bigger than this ship. She had loved those days at sea frolicking on the deck, searching the water for whales, all the while anticipating the delights she'd find in New York. Although she wasn't searching this water for whales and she certainly wasn't frolicking on the deck, she still had that special feeling of anticipation of what awaited on the upcoming shore.

Sybil felt her pulse quicken as land finally came into view.

xxxxxx

Sybil sat on the sofa in her hotel suite fingering the piece of paper with the address of Tom's mother. As she eyed the paper she had a brief moment of panic as she began to have doubts again about her purpose for being here. Before embarking on this journey she had lingered over the possibility that it was too late, that Tom was happily married or even if still single he might no longer have those feelings for her, that she was just a distant memory to him. Those thoughts had been enough to make her consider giving up her quest. But in the end she knew she'd be a restless soul until she knew for sure and that she had to seek him out whatever the outcome would be.

Yet now sitting in a Dublin hotel she wondered if she was actually ready to face whatever that outcome would be. She set the paper on the table in front of the sofa and walked over to the window with its wonderful view of the very lovely St. Stephen's Green. Tom hadn't really ever talked much about Dublin, about the city itself, for when he talked of Dublin he mostly talked about his family or the injustices of people being ruled by an unwanted occupier.

She watched a couple, their arms wrapped around each other, stroll into the park passing a little boy pulling what looked like a wooden duck.

 _The truth is, I'll stay at Downton until you want to run away with me._

She quietly uttered "but you didn't stay Tom."

She closed her eyes and a tear ran down her cheek. You ran off without a goodbye.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there at the window watching people come and go from the park. Watching but not really seeing. Finally she took a deep breath and turned back towards the room her eyes drifting to the piece of paper lying on the table. Walking over to the table she once again picked up the piece of paper.

Staring at the address she realized it was from so long ago, what if his family had moved? Taking a deep breath she thought that surely the neighbors would know where the family had gone; after all the Bransons had lived there since Tom was a little boy.

The taxi cab driver looked puzzled when the well-dressed lady gave him the address of her destination. He couldn't imagine why anyone that stayed at the Shelbourne Hotel, especially an English woman, would have any reason to visit that neighborhood.

Sybil wasn't sure what to expect. She knew Tom's family had suffered financially when his father died, that he had to leave school because he needed to work to help support the family and that he had faithfully sent half of his Downton pay home to his mother. The taxi cab turned down a narrow street, barely the width of two motor cars, lined with a series of attached small two story light colored brick homes whose front doors opened directly onto the pavement. After a series of five or six such houses there was a small opening, probably used as an alley, and then another series of the same type of houses. The color of the houses and the pavement and the street all blended together and the drabness of it all was broken only by some brightly painted front doors. The taxi cab slowly crept along until stopping across the street from the address she had given him.

The house looked like every other house on the block with only the curtains visible at the windows distinguishing it from its neighbors. The two long narrow upstairs windows had dark blue curtains that had been pulled back to allow what little sunlight that penetrated the street to seep into the rooms while the much wider window to the left of the bright blue front door was covered with a snowy white lace curtain.

Sybil sat in the back of the taxi cab staring at the house so long that the driver finally asked if she was going to get out. After asking him to wait for her, she did have enough wits about her to ask in case it wasn't the right house or if … she shuddered as she didn't want to think about that.

In answer to Sybil's knock, the front door was opened by a woman that Sybil immediately thought had be Tom's mother for there was no mistaking the resemblance to her son. Her hair, pulled back into a loose bun, was the same dark blondish hair with wisps of gray but it was the blue of her eyes that so nearly matched Tom's. There was nothing fashionable about her light gray dress that was mostly covered by a flowered print apron.

The smile that had been on the woman's face when she opened the door quickly disappeared as she stared at Sybil yet Sybil was too nervous to have noticed.

"Mrs. Branson?" Sybil smiled pleasantly as she waited for the woman to confirm her identity.

The woman's gaze darted to the waiting taxi cab and then back to Sybil.

"I'm-" Sybil began hesitantly in response to the woman's coldness.

"I can guess who you are" the woman abruptly interrupted.

Indeed Mrs. Branson had instinctively known the moment she opened the door and saw the beautiful young woman standing there that it was Lady Sybil and the posh English accent only confirmed it. Although Sybil was dressed modestly in a green and white print dress with a darker green v-neck collar and sash around the drop waist, there was no mistaking the expensive fabric and the fine tailoring that silently spoke of someone out of place on this street. And though she was now several years older she still looked like the girl in the nursing uniform in the creased picture that Tom had once stashed in the top drawer of his bedroom chest.

Sybil nervously nibbled her bottom lip as she looked down at the pavement until deciding that she had come all this way and she wouldn't be deterred by this woman's unfriendly manner.

Raising her head to look directly at Mrs. Branson she spoke as pleasantly as she could. "I'm trying to find Tom."

And that confirmed Ena Branson's fear.

Recognizing Mrs. Branson's apprehension, Sybil reached out to gently touch the woman's arm. "Please Mrs. Branson I need to speak to Tom."

For a moment, Sybil sensed a subtle shift in Mrs. Branson's demeanor, a softening in her eyes, but then just as suddenly any such changes disappeared.

Mrs. Branson removed her arm from Sybil's touch. Her hand took hold of the door. "He's not here" she finally responded as she made to close the door. "He no longer lives here."

Sybil grasped the doorknob to keep the door from closing. She nodded her head slightly as she licked her lower lip. "Could you tell me where he is?"

Then locking her gaze on Mrs. Branson's eyes she implored "Please Mrs. Branson."

"Ma" the unexpected voice coming from behind Mrs. Branson startled both women.

Sybil caught a glimpse of a young woman's head peeking out from behind Mrs. Branson before the older woman moved to block her view.

Firmly and defiantly Mrs. Branson filled the small space formed by the now partially closed door. "My son spent years in England because of you. And then I lost him again when he …" she abruptly stopped as her mask of defiance began to slip and tears formed in her eyes.

"He doesn't need any more of the likes of you" and with that the door slammed shut leaving a dumbfounded Sybil staring at the closed door.

Sybil stood there a few minutes before she began knocking on the door hoping that the young woman, one of Tom's sisters she supposed, would open it.

The taxi driver had curiously watched as Sybil had walked across the street to the house. His curiosity had risen as he watched her hesitate as she stood at the front door staring at it but not raising her hand to knock. When she finally did and then began talking to the older woman who had opened the door, he turned his attention to his newspaper yet periodically he turned to look at his fare.

He had just so happened to glance up when the older woman shut the door. Putting his hat once more on his head, he stepped out of the car and stood beside the passenger door waiting to open it but the young woman didn't move towards the motor car. Instead she stood there with her back to him staring at the now closed front door.

When she finally turned and walked the short distance to the motor car she avoided his face as she took her seat in the back of the car. But before settling into her seat she turned to look at the house and he noted the tears in her eyes.

xxxxxx

For so long he had been a man adrift. During his travels across the globe he had never stayed in any one place for more than a few months. Sometimes it had only been for a matter of weeks before he felt the need or desire to leave while a few times he thought maybe he had found a place to put down roots but then that urge would hit again and he'd pull up stakes once more. He couldn't really say what it was that propelled him to move on. It was a restlessness that he had never had before.

Yet after all the travel, drifting from one place to another, working an assortment of jobs, he had finally found contentment.

Although some days he thought he'd never get rid of the grease stains, Tom wiped his hands on the rag as he stood back to admire his handiwork. The motor car was so clean and shiny it looked as if it had never been driven. Gone were the few dings that had marred the driver's door, the new bumper gleamed, the worn tires had been replaced.

As he stood there admiring his handiwork, the quietness of the garage was jarred by the ringing of the telephone.

"Branson's Garage" he spoke into the telephone and he listened as a stranded motorist asked for help.

A/N: Thanks as always for taking time to leave a review.


	8. Chapter 8

Unlike the journey towards the Branson house when Sybil had been riveted to the passing scenery outside the taxi cab's windows, she now sat glumly in the rear seat as the taxi cab made its way back to the Shelbourne Hotel. All her eagerness mingled with a touch of apprehension and a tad more nervousness had been replaced by bewilderment and confusion.

Sitting with her head bowed, her eyes cast downward as if studying her hands, the fingers of which were entwined while she rubbed her thumbs together, she was oblivious to anything outside the motor car's windows as well as to the driver who kept glancing at her through the rear view mirror. He had been a driver for longer than he cared to remember, had seen many come and go from his cab most of whom he forgot the moment they stepped out of the motor car, but there was something different about this one. It wasn't just that unlike most of the English she had warmly smiled at him as he held the door to his cab open for her or that she had actually asked questions about buildings and streets showing an unexpected interest in Dublin as they had made their way to the address on the paper she had given him. His interest in what business she could have possibly had at that address, the home of her childhood nanny perhaps he had surmised when an older woman answered the door, was raised higher by the obvious cool reception she had received. Now as he furtively glanced at her through the rear view mirror whatever the woman at the door had said had greatly upset his passenger.

When they arrived at back the Shelbourne she remained seated, her eyes focused on the hands in her lap, still unaware of her surroundings. He stood holding the passenger door open, wondering what to say, unexpectedly feeling compassion for this stranger.

"Are you alright miss?" he finally asked when she made no move to exit the car. "Is there somewhere else you want to go?"

Sybil looked at him as if trying to remember who he was before eventually shaking her head no. She gave him a wan smile, a pale imitation of her earlier one, and tipped him generously.

She stood on the pavement looking lost and forlorn as pedestrians skirted around her. After taking two steps towards the grand hotel's entrance she remembered the park, St. Stephen's Green, bordered the other side of the street. Turning around she looked at the expanse of greenery which seemed to beckon her for in times of sorrow or joy or when she just wanted to think she found comfort in such places. During her childhood the grounds of Downton offered numerous possibilities and now that she lived in London Eaton Square Park right outside her door offered her such a retreat although she often when further afield to Hyde Park with its fields and woods and lakes that reminded her more of Downton and where one could easily find solitude in the midst of a large city.

The park was a busy place on this summer day full of Dubliners taking advantage of a warm sunny day and she wandered aimlessly admiring the colorful displays of flowers, stopping to watch people feeding the ducks gliding easily around the lake. It was only as she walked deeper into the park, passing more beds of colorful flowers in the peak of their bloom and away from the lake that seemed to attract so many pedestrians, that the crowds seemed to disappear. Finding an empty bench nestled under a large oak tree she decided to take advantage of its solitude.

Although she had thought of many scenarios, such as Tom was now happily married or that he would no longer be interested in her, she hadn't conceived of the reaction she had received from Mrs. Branson. Without Mrs. Branson's help how was she to find Tom? Should she return to the house and hope that one of Tom's sisters would answer the door or should she watch the house and wait until one of them emerged or maybe even Tom himself? Yet how would she watch the house? The street had very little motor car traffic, indeed while she had been there her taxi was the only motor on the street. There was no way she could unobtrusively stand around observing the Branson house.

Sybil took a deep breath. _He doesn't live here anymore._ Why hadn't Mrs. Branson just said where he was? Why the hostility towards her? What had Tom said about her? Had he ever mentioned her? Once they had become friends Tom had talked a lot about his family. He had shared with her the few photographs he had of them. Yet she had no idea what, if anything, he had told them about her.

She knew he had been angry and hurt hence the sudden and rapid departure from Downton without a word of goodbye to her. When he arrived unexpectedly back in Ireland how honest had he been about his reasons for leaving Downton?

 _My son spent years in England because of you. And then I lost him again when he …_

Sybil clutched her stomach as she suddenly thought … what if … what … she closed her eyes … what if he's dead? Had he taken up arms against the English? Then there had been the civil war when Irish fought Irish. Or he could have had an accident of some kind or … Tears welled in Sybil's eyes as she thought of the possibilities. She shook her head … he can't … he can't …

And then it came to her … wouldn't Mrs. Branson have just said it outright if he was dead? Instead she had said _I lost him again when he …_ a most unusual turn of phrase thought Sybil. Did it mean … she closed her eyes as if doing so would enable her to better concentrate. Had he left Ireland? It was something she hadn't thought about for in all the years she had known him he had talked about Ireland. And now that Ireland was free …

But Mrs. Branson had said something else … something … Sybil closed her eyes again as if trying to picture Mrs. Branson at the door saying …

 _He doesn't need any more of the likes of you_

He doesn't need any more of the likes of you. Mulling this over Sybil suddenly smiled. "He's alive. Tom's alive!" she cried aloud in her happiness. And he's here in Dublin she thought. If he had gone to America or elsewhere his mother would have said. And then Sybil smiled again as she thought he's not married for certainly Mrs. Branson would have gloated giving her that information.

The elation that Sybil felt at determining Tom was in Dublin fell as quickly as a balloon popping for she still had no idea where he was or how to find him and Dublin was a large city.

* * *

Tom drove the tow truck through the open iron gates and into the grounds of the former Leary Brothers Carriage Works and now the home of Branson's Garage. There had been no need for Tom's towing equipment because it had just been a flat tire that needed changing something that in Tom's opinion the driver should have known how to do. As Tom had looked at the man that stood leaning against the car waiting for Tom's arrival noting the expense suit tailored to cover his portly frame he knew that such a man would never dream of getting his hands dirty. He might not be rich enough to afford a chauffeur but clearly manual labor was beneath him. However, he was rich enough to pay Tom's fees and Tom was only too happy to fill his pockets with the man's money.

Tom parked the tow truck on the far side of the courtyard. Stepping out of the driver's seat, he thought how it had been a fortuitous decision to buy the used tow truck. He had bought it on impulse after spotting the for sale sign tucked in the windshield. But then, looking around him, Tom thought of how much he had done these past few months, indeed these past few years, on impulse.

During his travels across America and then across the Pacific he had wandered without any set plan. Of all the places Tom had been he found New Zealand the most appealing probably because it most reminded him of Ireland with its cliffs falling into the sea and rolling green pastures filled with sheep.

For a time he thought this might be the place to end his travels, to settle down and make a new life for himself maybe marrying and starting a family something he hadn't thought about since … well it had been a long long time ago. He was making a good living repairing farm equipment and supplementing his wages with money earned by writing for Henry's magazine although all of that money went to directly to a bank in Ireland. He had a begun seeing Margaret, a pretty redhead with milky white skin that spoke of her Irish heritage.

But then Sinead's letter had come disrupting the orderly world he had created in New Zealand. Why that particular letter, it was one of only many his family had sent during his travels, had done so he wasn't sure. Maybe it was the photograph of Sinead and her three children, two of whom he had never met. Maybe it was the photograph of his youngest sister Orla now grown up and a nurse. Maybe it was Sinead writing that his younger, and wilder, brother Cillian was getting married in November. Maybe it was Sinead writing that Uncle Joe, the kind gentle man who had tried to step in as a father figure to the Branson children after the death of their father, had suffered a stroke leaving him partially paralyzed.

Whatever it was, for the first time Tom realized how much life was going on with his family and he began to regret what he was missing. He thought of New Zealand being so much like Ireland but why should he settle for "like Ireland" when he could have the real thing?

Within two months of getting Sinead's letter Tom was standing on the deck of a ship watching it maneuver through the Panama Canal.

Now as he looked around the cobblestone yard, to the left at the former horse stables now used as storage rooms or garages, then across the yard to the large covered area where two motor cars were waiting for repairs, to the building containing his office and his home, he felt an immense sense of pride. For a man who for so long could fit his only possessions, some clothes and a few books, into one large suitcase, he had come a long way. _I won't always be a chauffeur._ _I'll make something of myself._

* * *

Sybil, too nervous in the morning to take full advantage of the breakfast tray that had been sent to her room, felt her stomach grumble. She thought of returning to the hotel and eating in the dining room or having something sent up to her suite. Some might call it just a coincidence, others fate or destiny, but it was a seemingly minor thing, a few wrong turns in the park that led Sybil not towards the entrance across the street from the Shelbourne Hotel but rather to the entrance known as the Fusilier's Arch. This memorial arch, dedicated to the Royal Dublin Fusiliers who had fought in the Boer War, was at the opposite end of the street from the Shelbourne.

Realizing her mistake Sybil stood on the corner of the park looking down Grafton Street and King Street and decided to find a nice small tea room instead of the stuffy hotel restaurant. As she waited to cross the street an odd looking vehicle, the front of which looked like a normal motor car but the back end which should have been for passengers but was flat and had some contraption that Sybil wasn't sure what it was, slowly passed in front of her. While the vehicle itself was something that would have attracted her attention, it was the writing in large bold letters on the side of the vehicle that made her widen her eyes in surprise. For there on the side was written _Branson's Garage._

* * *

It was surprisingly only a ten minute drive to the address the hotel's concierge had found for Branson's Garage. A further telephone call from the concierge confirmed not only that a Tom Branson worked there but that he was in fact the owner. Sybil knew it was a gamble that this Branson would be her Branson but she had to pursue it.

It was an area much different from where the Branson family house was located. Unlike that street which was strictly residential, this street was a small haven of businesses such as a print shop, a small iron works producing railings and fences, a clockmaker and watch repair shop, a used furniture dealer, and a few other assorted businesses that Sybil wasn't sure what they produced or sold. All of the buildings were two or three stories tall and, judging by the curtains on the some of the higher floors, Sybil thought some must contain flats maybe for the owners of the shop below.

The taxi cab stopped in front of a two story brick building. Like some of the other buildings, the second floor had three curtained windows while on the ground floor was a dark green door and to the right of it a tall wide window the filled most of the wall space. The lower half of the window was shielded from view by dark green curtains and across the top of the window was painted in large dark letters _Branson's Garage._ From the taxi's passenger seat, Sybil, her pulse quickening, stared at the building a million thoughts racing through her head. Finally, inhaling deeply, she stepped out onto the pavement on the opposite side of the street.

When the taxi pulled away, Sybil stood rooted to her spot staring across the street. For the first time she noticed that the building, which sat on the corner, was connected via a wide two piece black iron gate to a tall brick wall which ran all the way to the other corner of the block. Also connected to both the building and the wall, stretching above the iron gate was a decorative black iron archway with the words _Leary Brothers Carriage Works_ scrolled across it.

Now as she stood maybe only feet away from Tom, Sybil shivered despite the heat of the late afternoon. It had been easy to think about the past, about what she should or could have done, but now about to face him she suddenly had second thoughts about being here. Judging from what was before her, Tom had made a new life for himself and for the first time she wondered if she should disrupt that. Was it fair to him? Would it be better to live letting things be as they were, no longer wondering about what could have been but rather just accepting the past for what it was?


	9. Chapter 9

**July 1924**

Decisions can be made lightly or in haste. They can be made after much thought or contemplation. They can be borne in anger or frustration or in hope or naivety. Regardless of how a decision comes to be, the consequences cannot be known until it is actually implemented.

Back in October 1918 it was only after much contemplation that Sybil made her decision that rather than accepting or rejecting his proposal, something he had been waiting years for, she asked Tom for more time. Yet for all her reflection and consideration she hadn't been prepared for Tom's reaction, neither his verbal reaction to her that night in the garage and certainly not his sudden departure from Downton. For his part, Tom's retreat from Downton had been swift, a reflection of his hurt and anger rather than any well thought out decision.

 _I'm a driver now but I won't always be. I'll make something of myself._ Standing in front of _Branson's Garage_ Sybil couldn't help thinking that if this was indeed his business he had done well for himself and with this thought Sybil began to waver on her decision to come look for Tom, her mind suddenly awash with thoughts of just walking away leaving things as they were. Yet in her heart she knew if she walked away now without seeing Tom it would be something that would always haunt her, that she'd always live in the realm of "what if". No, she thought, it would be far better to know.

Following loud hammer-like sounds, Sybil moved towards the open wrought iron gates. Standing beneath the black iron archway with its _Leary Brothers Carriage Works_ scrolled across the top, she found the sounds emanating from a garage some twenty or more feet in front of her where a man was working on a motor car. The back wall as well as the right sided wall of the garage were formed by the brick building that also housed what Sybil assumed was the office while the other two sides had double wooden doors that were pulled back allowing sunlight and air to filter into the garage. Although his back was to her, Sybil's heart fluttered for she sensed the man dressed in dark gray coveralls with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows was Tom.

She stood rooted to the spot under the archway watching him deftly work in the neat orderly garage so reminiscent of his workspace at Downton. It was a scene she had viewed so many times before.

Without moving from under the archway she finally spoke. "Hello … Tom."

At the sound of that silken voice, its huskiness that made him think of a fine whiskey, Tom flinched. Keeping his head tilted downward, his hands still on the engine block but no longer moving in work, he closed his eyes. This can't be he thought, not now, not here. It can't be _her_.

Sybil, chewing on her lower lip, nervously waited for him to look up at her and to speak.

When he finally turned to face her, he softly murmured "Sybil." While his face was like a mask not giving any hint as to what he was thinking, the tone of his voice conveyed more of a question than a statement.

Now that Tom was facing her, Sybil thought he looked more muscular, his shoulders broader, than in his Downton days. His hair, freed of the pomade used in his chauffeur days, looked lighter and softer and an untidy fringe fell across his forehead. The years had been kind to him Sybil thought.

The fading afternoon sun, setting just above brick wall that ran along the rear of the property, was angled so that its rays cast Sybil in a warm glow making her look luminous. He had always thought of her as breathtakingly beautiful and the intervening years had done nothing to diminish that beauty.

Feeling the intensity in the way Tom was looking at her, Sybil nibbled on her lower lip, an act she did unwittingly but one he had always thought appealing. She turned her head towards the left and was surprised to see that the buildings and brick walls formed a courtyard. Even more surprising the brick building that ran along the side opposite the office building had the unmistakable look of a horse stable block with six wide arched wooden doors painted white. Two of the doors were open with one revealing walls lined with wooden shelves filled with cans and boxes of various sizes all so neatly ordered. The other open door revealed a few tyres leaning against the back wall but was otherwise empty.

"It looks like a stable block" Tom noted the surprise in her voice "like something from …" she halted when she realized she was about to say she could be standing in most any English estate.

"Aye" Tom his neutral tone still giving no clue as to what he was thinking. He pointed at the top of the archway "hence the _Leary Brothers Carriage Works_. Now with the trams and motor cars there isn't much demand of horse drawn carriages in central Dublin."

He set the wrench he was still holding down on the motor car, then stood with his arms folded across his chest. He looked pointedly at her. "But I doubt you've come all this way to talk about horse drawn carriages versus motor cars."

She smiled, that gorgeous smile of hers, the one that Tom remembered always melted his heart which was something he didn't want to feel right now.

"Why are you here Sybil?" Her smile deflated at the belligerence in his voice and in her mind she again questioned the wisdom of coming here, of seeing him. Withering under the intensity of his gaze, she lowered her head as if suddenly finding something of interest on the cobblestone, her hands slowly moving back and forth across the sides of her skirt.

The silence was deafening.

"All those years ago" she began hesitantly her head still tilted downward "when I" she paused searching for the right way to say what she was thinking and what she felt. Raising her head, her eyes looking directly at him "When you left without saying goodbye or letting me explain-"

Tom didn't wait for her to finish. "You mean when the girl I loved and waited for so long, the one I mistakenly thought was in love with me, told me she couldn't come away with me, that-"

"I never said I didn't love you" Sybil, her eyes blazing, adamantly cut him off.

Her words cut through him like a knife. Silence descended on them again as the pair stood staring at each other. Tom fearing she'd run away, Sybil fearing he'd turn his back on her. Tom fearing she'd break his heart all over again, Sybil fearing he'd break her heart.

It was Tom that broke the silence, only this time his voice was softer almost pleading in tone. "Why are you here Sybil?"

Sybil, unable to halt the tears welling up in her eyes, spoke so quietly Tom had to move closer towards her to hear. "To see if you …" she felt a tear fall onto her cheek. "Oh Tom that night … I didn't mean … I thought we'd …"

She rubbed her hand across her forehead, something she always did when thinking, a tiny action that Tom had always loved. She wasn't accustomed to speaking aloud her feelings and Tom wasn't making it any easier for her. She wiped away the tear. Inhaling deeply she looked straight at him.

Her steady gaze unnerved him and this time he was the one that looked away. He looked around the courtyard at the stable block that now stored supplies or served as garages while the large flat that ran the length of the second story housed his two employees one of whom was his nephew. He looked at the two motor cars parked by the back wall that he had recondition and now offered for sale. He saw what he had achieved. It had been years since he was a servant, he had made something of his life.

"Oh Tom" she took a few steps to close the gap between them. "Couldn't you see that I was young and scared? I was afraid of leaving everything and everyone and" she paused, her lips quivering. "But most of all I was afraid that … that … if I went with you … I'd end up disappointing you."

He wanted to yell at her. To tell her she had disappointed him that night. To tell her she had broken his heart. To tell her he had gotten over her. He wanted to yell at her that he didn't understand why she was here now dredging up the past.

His voice clear and steady with a touch of bitterness he said what had pained him the most that night so long ago. "I told then you I wasn't a consolation prize."

"Oh Tom can't you see that" she paused, her eyes looking upward while lightly shaking her head. She wasn't use to speaking aloud of her feelings and Tom's attitude wasn't making it any easier for her. "That's just it Tom you're not the consolation prize. Every man I've met I've judged him against you and" again she paused, her teeth once again nibbling her bottom lip.

He silently waited for her to finish. She reached out her fingertips to lightly touch his arm. "no one else has come close to you."

He gazed into those beautiful blue eyes that always reminded him of the color of the sky on a perfect day. Oh how long he had avoided women with beautiful blue eyes and in time he didn't think of her anymore. And then Sinead had sent that photograph of Orla in her nursing uniform and for the first time in oh so long he thought once more of Sybil. And in thinking of her came the stark realization that although he had traveled around the world he had never fallen in love with anyone else.

 **November 1924**

The past can be like a book stored on a shelf. Sometimes it remains there for years, never thought about, never opened. Sometimes it's occasional taken down and thumbed through especially when one is sad or feeling nostalgic. But whether one wants to remember or forget, the past is part of us, it's what has made us who we are today. The past leads us to our present.

That July afternoon there had been no doubt in either Sybil or Tom that they loved the person the other had been all those years ago but did they love who that person was now?

They took long walks around Dublin with Tom delightfully showing her his city.

They took the tram to the seaside and walked barefoot on the sand and dined on freshly caught fish.

They lingered over meals in small out of the way restaurants or at other times in a pub.

They spent evenings talking far into the night

They talked of their lives those past five years.

Sybil was dismayed to learn of his disillusionment with his countrymen and with politics.

Tom was heartened by the intensity of her interest in politics.

Sybil was amazed that Tom had traveled half-way around the world and was fascinated by his stories of the places he had been and the things he had seen and done.

Tom was impressed that Sybil had moved to London where she continued her nursing education and had become a fully certified professional nurse and worked at a hospital as well as volunteering at a free clinic for the poor.

Sybil was happy that Tom had pursued writing and devoured all of his articles in Henry's magazines copies of which Tom had carefully stored.

Tom admired that Sybil had retained her interest in women's rights and social causes and was thunderstruck to learn she had been arrested for demonstrating.

Sybil was impressed with Tom purchasing the former carriage works and turning it into a garage. He laughed when she told him how the tow truck had led her to him.

It was surprising to both of them how quickly they fell into the easy camaraderie so reminiscent of their Downton days. They laughed that once again so much of their time was spent in a garage albeit this time one owned by Tom with Sybil, unlike at Downton, acting as his assistant. After all he still had a business to run.

At the end of the two weeks Sybil had allotted to Dublin, both knew they wanted a future together. Sybil returned to London knowing she would move to Dublin as soon as she settled her affairs. She made a hasty trip to Downton, something she dreaded doing but felt she couldn't do the cowardly thing and just write them. Her hopes of leaving with their understanding if not their good wishes were quickly dashed. Predictably her family had been appalled when she told them about Tom. Harsh words had been spoken on both sides. She hadn't lived under her father's roof for five years now and any threats he issued rang hollow. She had no interest in society something which her family should have realized by now and she didn't need his money for she had her Levinson trust fund. By the end of August she was back in Dublin.

The day dawned bright and sunny a contrast to the previous week of constant overcast skies and intermittent rain. Upon waking, Sybil had leaped to the window, anxiously pulling back the curtains and seeing the clear blue sky she smiled thinking that the heavens were shining on them. For Sybil and Tom it had been a long and circuitous path that had led them to this day. The ceremony was a quiet affair even by the modest standards of lower middle class Dubliners. The small registry office was filled with Mrs. Branson, a few of Tom's siblings, a couple of aunts and a cousin or two who were available at half past ten on a Tuesday morning in November.

Aunt Rosamund, the only family member that had given Sybil more than a half-hearted blessing, had sent money for the wedding breakfast. Upon seeing the size of the check, Sybil had thought Aunt Rosamund pictured a reception for a hundred at one of the Shelbourne's finer restaurants rather than a dozen at a pub within walking distance of the Registry Office.

For both Sybil and Tom their wedding day was just perfect for it was the beginning of their life together and that was what really mattered, the ceremony was just a detail.

 **A/N: Thank you all the lovely reviews of the last chapter. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint. I am writing an epilogue where we will meet up with the Bransons years into their marriage.**


	10. Epilogue

**Thanks to all of you who took the time to leave a review of the last chapter. I appreciate the reviews and your honesty. I'm sorry to have disappointed so many of you with that chapter. I once had a boss that told me I thought too much outside of the box and maybe that carries over into my writing. I'm almost afraid of posting this but I've made a few changes to this epilogue based on those reviews.**

* * *

 **Dublin October 1937**

There are times in life when you think you have everything sorted out and that the future will have no grand surprises, that life today will be much like yesterday and the day before that. Such was the beginning of 1937 for Sybil. New Year's Day had been spent with a gathering of the Branson family just like it had been since Sybil's first New Year's Day in Dublin in 1925.

While there had been a shaky start to Ena Branson's relationship with her daughter-in-law, their mutual love of Tom eventually overshadowed any misgivings. The birth of a child often has a way of forging families together and that was certainly true with the birth of Tom and Sybil's first child, Ronan, in January 1925 and that only grew as his birth was followed by Bradan in 1927, Aibreann in 1930 and Sinead in 1932.

At 75, Ena Branson would never admit to slowing down although her role in the family gathering was now more of overseeing rather than actually cooking and cleaning for the grand event. Beginning in early afternoon family and friends would drop by, some to stay for hours and others for a quick drink or bite to eat. As the day progressed conversation became a backdrop to the sounds of the fiddles, flutes and bodhram as an impromptu band with an ever changing cast played in the front parlor.

There are changes in life because of the deliberate decisions we make and then there are those changes, perhaps from unintended consequences or quirks of fate, that unexpectedly change one's life. As Sybil sat that afternoon on the first day of 1937 in her mother-in-law's dining room sipping whiskey tapping her foot to the sound of the fiddles, she had no idea of the profound changes the year would bring to her life.

In a state of disbelief at what she had just been told Sybil left the doctor's office and stepped outside into the cool October morning. It had been a gray morning, not unusual by Dublin standards, but hints of a sunny afternoon could now be seen in the rays of sunshine that filtered through the clouds and dappled the pavement. Yet the scattered rays of sunshine did nothing to brighten Sybil's mood. She slowly ambled down the bustling city street paying scant attention to where she was and with no clear destination in mind. It was only the stranger's hand tugging on her arm halting her stride and the shrill blast of a motor car horn that brought her attention to her surroundings. Quickly stepping back on the curb to let the impatient driver pass, Sybil smiled gratefully at her savior. Spotting a nearby a tea shop she decided maybe she needed a good cup of tea over which to ponder the doctor's news.

The shop was a bit fancier than those she normally patronized on the rather rare occasions she went out for tea but then again this neighborhood was much fancier than what she had become used to in her years living in Dublin. Yet it was her new neighborhood thanks to her inheritance from Uncle Harold. The year had already been an eventful one due to that very large inheritance but now with the news she had received this morning from the doctor well … she slightly shuddered thinking of the news that she still hadn't fully digested.

The tea room was almost empty so Sybil had her choice of tables and she quickly opted for one by the large picture window that faced the street. Taking her seat nearest the window, Sybil watched the passing pedestrians as she waited for her tea. The tea was hot and strong and just what Sybil needed. Holding the cup with both hands as she took several sips, Sybil was suddenly reminded of Granny admonishing her twelve year old self on the proper way to hold a tea cup. _You are a Lady my dear not some ragamuffin. Never with both hands Sybil dear why do you think there's a handle?_ Setting the cup down on its matching saucer, Sybil faintly smiled. It had been a long time since she had thought of Granny. Sybil closed her eyes and thought oh Granny you'd have so much to admonish me about these past years not the least of which would have been Sybil's foregoing the use of her title.

Although of course she would always be _Lady Sybil_ , it was a title she was born with and would die with, it was a form of address she stopped using when she moved to Dublin all those years ago. There had been those times when Cora visited and Sybil found it odd to be called Lady Sybil by the hotel or wait staff. But Cora Crawley had died almost two years ago now and since then no one had ever called Sybil _Lady Sybil_ until earlier this year when she received that most unexpected phone call from the very prestigious Dublin law firm informing her of her inheritance.

Their only extravagance had been to buy a large house with a back garden for the children to play in rather than weaving around motor cars parked in the brick paved courtyard of the garage. After all those years of living in the small flat over the garage office, no longer did her two boys have to share a small bedroom nor did her two daughters. With the new house having five large bedrooms, each child was able to have their own room.

As she continued drinking her tea, Sybil's mind ran through a number of emotions including disappointment and apprehension but most of all shock. She had had four children in seven years and had thought her childbearing years were now over with her youngest child almost 7 and yet here she was unexpectedly pregnant again at 42.

For the first time in their marriage they had no money worries. Tom was considering handing over more of the day to day running of the garage to his nephew and concentrating instead on writing. With all the children in school she was considering new options of how to spend her time.

Suddenly she yearned to talk to Tom.

She stood on the pavement outside the garage just as she had done almost 14 years ago and just like then she was filled with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. The only visible sign of change from that time was that the wrought iron archway over the garage entrance now read _Branson's._

Tom's attention was fully engaged on the engine of a motor car as she stood silently watching him from afar. In her mind he still looked as he had that day she had first come to Dublin to find him. He was so engrossed in his work he didn't notice Sybil standing beside him until, without looking up, his hand reached for one of the tools laying on the small cart beside the car and found himself touching her hand.

"Sybil?" He was perplexed to see her here for he was sure she hadn't said anything about coming to the garage this morning. Although she was still the bookkeeper and office manager for the business she no longer came here every day.

Chewing on her lip as she always did when she was nervous she gave a small shake of her head. "I need to talk to you."

While Sybil might have had mixed feelings on her condition there was no such ambiguity for Tom. At her news he lifted her off the ground and swung her around all the while grinning from ear to ear.

 **London May 1948**

When the cab turned into Eaton Square Mary was surprised to see the park rippling with the colors of spring as it had only been five or six weeks since she was last here and then the park was still enveloped in the drab brown of winter. It was a beautiful park thought Mary and, looking at the houses lining the road opposite the park, a much more elegant location perhaps than that of Grantham House. With that in mind she thought it might be better to sell Grantham House and keep Aunt Rosamund's house as the Crawley city house. Although Mary had to remind herself it was now Sybil's house, a fact which did cause her some resentment.

The cab came to a stop in front of the house just as a well-dressed man emerged from the doorway and stood on the top granite step. Looking rather urbane, he glanced left and right before realizing the cab had stopped right in front of him. When Mary alighted from the cab, he quickly descended the remaining steps asking if the cab was free. Giving Mary a doff of his hat and a smile that lit up his handsome face, he took her place in the cab.

Although the butler Laver had stated her sister was in the small sitting room Mary made no movement instead standing just inside the doorway looking around the grand entrance hall. She wasn't filled with nostalgia for the room had always seemed cold to her, more like a museum setting with the marble floors and all those marble busts perched on small ledges on the marble walls. Nor was she filled with grief for the sterile room was no reflection of Aunt Rosamund's vibrant personality.

Completing her review of the grand hall, she stiffened at the sight of a group of packing boxes sitting on the floor in the opposite corner of the room.

Laver was half way across the foyer when he realized Mary wasn't following him. He stopped and turned to look at her. "Madame?" he asked as if she had some intention other than seeing her sister.

Mary quickly covered the distance between them, the sounds of her heels clicking on the marble floors resonating around the room. "No need to announce me Laver" she spoke as she brushed past the butler.

Mary stopped in the open doorway of the small sitting room. Unlike many of the rooms that looked the same as they did when she was a child, this one had been updated to reflect a more modern sensibility yet it retained its sense of warmth and comfort with the overstuffed sofas and matching lounge chairs. Sybil was sitting in one of the lounge chairs that sat in front of the large picture window her face turned towards the commanding view of the back garden which was ablaze with an array of color from late spring bulbs and the early blossoms of lilacs and azaleas. Like the entrance hall, there were a couple of packing boxes on the floor only one of which had been filled as evidenced by it being taped and labeled.

While Mary, smartly dressed in a tailored suit with a hat that exactly matched the color of her skirt, her hair expertly coifed in a soft bun, looked like the wealthy society matron she was, her sister looked very bohemian dressed in black trousers, black slippers and a white blouse with small blue and purple flowers. Her dark curly hair fell just below her chin and was held back from her face by a wide strip of fabric inelegantly tied on the top of her head. Despite the informality of it, Mary was struck by how it suited Sybil. While she herself was beginning to feel old in both manner and appearance, Sybil had somehow retained a look of youthfulness.

"I see you've been busy."

The sound of Mary's voice startled Sybil yet she remained focus on the view outside the window for a few seconds before finally turning her head and looking at her sister.

"Well I want to get this done quickly since we've decided to rent out the house." If Sybil noticed Mary blanching at the last of that sentence she ignored it for she continued "most of the things that are going to you and Edith have been crated."

Without asking, Mary stepped into the room and glided to the chair opposite Sybil with an oval shaped accent table filling the space between them. Sybil placed the tea cup she was holding on the table. Although it was mid-afternoon there was a tray with a half-eaten sandwich and some cheese wedges on the table as well as a porcelain tea pot.

Before either sister could say anything, Laver walked in with another pot of tea, a matching cup and plate, and a small tray of biscuits. He set everything on the table, nodded at Sybil who rewarded him with a dazzling smile, and quietly exited the room.

Sybil settled back into the comfy lounge chair, took a bite of the sandwich and sighed in contentment.

"There was a man just leaving as I arrived." The stranger had certainly raised Mary's curiosity.

"That was Edwin" Sybil quickly replied. "He's handling the sale of the silver and art and some of-"

"You've made a rather quick decision" Mary interrupted her sister. Mary was vexed by Sybil inheriting Aunt Rosamund's house along with most of the furnishings and hoped to get Sybil to see reason that any funds or at least a portion of the proceeds should be used to strengthen Downton's finances. "Maybe you should take a bit of time, interview several candidates to handle such an important matter."

Sybil placed her sandwich back on the tray and looked directly at Mary, her face firm and her eyes steadfast. "I've known Edwin for years."

"Oh?" Mary tilted her head, quirking that eyebrow in that way she had of showing curiosity or disbelief.

"In fact it's because of Edwin I married Tom."

The tea cup Mary had just picked up loudly fell back onto its saucer. Sybil gave a small smug smile before turning to face the window as if suddenly finding the view of the garden fascinating.

Trying to compose herself Mary sputtered "He … what … how?"

Still staring out the window, Sybil quietly spoke. "When I was still living here with Aunt Rosamund, Edwin asked me to marry him. While thinking about his proposal I realized I was still in love with Tom and that I needed to find him, to settle things with him before I could think about someone else…" her voice trailed off.

Mary was momentarily too stunned by Sybil's confession to speak.

When Sybil had left the family home to move to London and live with Aunt Rosamund the family dynamics had changed but they weren't shattered until she ran off to Ireland to marry the former chauffeur. Papa had never fully accepted the fact that a former servant had become a member of his family. Mama of course had been different especially as Sybil had children and visited Sybil and her family at least once or twice every year. Now with Sybil's words Mary realized how little she really knew her baby sister. Her sister had had a choice, she had other suitors, and she had chosen the penniless Irishman.

"Do you ever regret your decision?" the words were out of Mary's mouth before she realized what she was saying.

Mary wasn't sure if it was a look of irritation or anger that crossed Sybil's face as she stood and then paced across the room and back again before stopping in front of the large picture window.

Turning to look at her sister, Sybil noted the rich fabric and cut of Mary's tailored suit, the expensive earrings with the matching necklace. Sybil's clothes were purchased off the rack. Long gone were the days when Sybil's jewelry was handmade pieces of the finest jewels such as sapphires, garnets, pearls, interwoven in settings of gold. Most of the lovely pieces she had acquired from her parents or Granny for birthdays and Christmases had slowly been sold years ago. She still had a few pieces, mostly inherited from her grandmothers or mother but her most precious piece was her simple gold band wedding ring.

Tom had invested all his savings in buying the garage and its accompanying buildings. While they always had a roof over their heads and the garage provided a good income it wasn't always enough especially as their family grew. With two strikes against her, being married and being English, Sybil hadn't been able to find employment as a nurse much to her regret. And so she had taken an active role in Tom's business, becoming the bookkeeper and running the office. There were times in those early years of their marriage where the money earned by selling a pair of earrings or a brooch or necklace paid for a needed coal delivery or new inventory stock or a new piece of equipment. It had been the greatest source of conflict between Sybil and Tom in those early years but he eventually swallowed his pride.

Of course with Uncle Harold's generosity to his nieces, Sybil could now afford such things as couture clothes and rubies and diamonds if she wanted. She had grown up in wealth and luxury. Waited on hand and foot by an array of servants, she never had to do anything not even something so simply as donning a dress or brushing her hair. Nursing had been her first taste of actually doing something, of working, but even then there was someone else to fix her meals or prepare her bath or launder her bloody uniform. Not until she moved to Dublin did she realize ….

Mary shuddered at Sybil's piercing look. "Never. I have never regretted my decision."

 **Honolulu July 1953**

The sand was still warm beneath Sybil's feet and she couldn't help giggling as she wiggled her toes in the soft sand.

"We're definitely not in Skerries" she laughingly called out as she dashed to meet the incoming water.

Tom joined his wife in laughter as he watched her delight as the water raced ashore sloshing over her bare feet and wetting the hem of her long _muumuu_. The brightly colored loose fitting dress as well as his equally colorful shirt had been presents from their daughters who had insisted they all attend the _luau_ in Hawaiian dress. He continued watching as the water fulfilled its natural course and quickly ebbed back into the ocean only to once again come ashore in an uneven pattern on the smooth white sand. Sybil turned towards him and held out her arm beckoning him to join her.

Wrapping his arm around her waist he could smell the sweet scent of the plumeria _lei_ draped over her shoulders as if a long necklace. His own lei, made of green ti leaves and white orchids, wasn't nearly as fragrant. The leis had been another part of the luau tradition.

Sybil sighed in contentment as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Just to their left beyond the sandy beach tall palm trees gently swayed in the night, in front of them shimmering light from the full moon danced on the ocean waves as the natural curve of the shoreline ended in the distant dark shape of Diamond Head. Looming high into the sky the rim of the giant crater appeared to almost touch the full round moon.

"I think I could stay here forever" Sybil murmured dreamily.

"So you think Sir Henry would be fine with my ending my articles here?" Their reason for their trip was a series of articles Tom was writing for one of Henry's magazines comparing his travels of 30 years ago with today. Only now with the convenience of air travel his travels would be condensed into three months this year and again next summer.

Sybil suddenly pulled her head away from Tom's shoulder. "How did you ever bring yourself to leave this place?" Although she had been impressed with the American west and San Francisco this place had a special appeal to her. The crystal clear water of the ocean whose warm water was such a contrast to home. The colorful fish that inhabited those waters. As her youngest daughter had said that day at Hanauma Bay "it's like swimming in an aquarium." The fragrant smells of ginger and plumeria that perfumed the air. The lush greenery as a back drop to the colorful flowers that bloomed year round. The exotic foods many that she had never seen like mangoes and guavas. The gentle rain that briefly fell every day and the rainbows that followed.

Tom looked straight ahead as he felt himself blushing. Unlike when they had been on the American continent there were stories here he couldn't tell her and it would certainly be the same for some of the next places they would visit.

"I just finally felt I needed to move on."

Tom pulled Sybil down so they were both sitting on the sand. "In those days I was adrift and searching for something. It took me three years but I ended up realizing I missed Ireland and my family."

He paused and ran his hand through his hair. "And you" he said so quietly Sybil wasn't sure if she had heard him right.

"Tom" Sybil reached for his hand.

"Just think if I hadn't come home when I did … you … we … we wouldn't be here today … together."

At his words Sybil thought it wasn't only Tom's decision to come back that led them here. If she hadn't decided to come to Dublin … Both had made the right choice at the right time.

He placed both his hands on Sybil's face. "I wouldn't have Ronan and Bradan and the girls. I know those early years were rough for you but we came through them together. And next year we'll become grandparents for the first time and hopefully more will follow in time. I'm grateful for the chance of growing old with you."

His right hand gently caressed her cheek and then the side of her face.

"I've never loved anyone but you Sybil."

 **And so we've come to the end of the story. Thank you for reading and I hope there will be reviews of this chapter and/or the story as a whole**


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